


Adjustments

by Werepirechick



Series: this unfamiliar road... [2]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Adoption, DRAAL I MISS YOU ALREADY, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Feral Behavior, Gen, Gratuitous Cooking Descriptions, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Speciesism, Team as Family, Teenage Drama, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a family can be two trolls a troll/human hybrid and two humans, and the other two kids who came with him, bc treatment of changelings sucks ya know?, blinky loves his son, jim is trying his best but it's a struggle, plus their weird changeling relatives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 77,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick
Summary: Being a troll is more difficult than Jim wanted it to be. He's trying hard not to think about that more than he has to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi and hello, i'm back like i said i would be. fair warning to those unfamiliar with my style of fic- i have written many a fanfic but only two for this fandom thus far- my updates are not just sporadic in postage, but sporadic in size and length. i published a 66 page update to one of my other fics recently, after all. 66 pages to a single chapter, not kidding.
> 
> idk if this fic will end up with any chapters That long, but be prepared for the unexpected.
> 
> anyway, thanks for coming around again, and thanks for all the love with my other fic??? i love the troll dads and i'm glad everyone loved my take on them. now watch me take a swing at jim's feelings and new xenobiology/instincts. if copious feelings nonsense and xeno is your thing, then my friend i welcome you to my personalized hell.

After Gunmar and Morgana… the calm is almost alien.

The ever present suspect of an ambush or invasion is unfamiliarly absent. After living his life with that feeling, growing in weight and intensity for _months_ , adding up to _years,_ Jim feels… almost displaced from his own reality.

It doesn’t help that he keeps bumping into things, of tripping over them, or knocking his horns against stuff. Even if he’s as capable in a fight as he’s ever been, even _more so_ in fact, it doesn’t change the fact that his entire center of gravity has shifted dramatically. His whole body is… completely different, now. As alien as the calm.

His sight, his hearing, his sense of smell and _taste…_ everything about him has been changed irreversibly, and now that there’s no war to fight he’s flailing to find his feet again. Doubly so when he misjudges how far he needs to step, and ends up tripping over his own feet because his legs are just so _long_ now.

It’s weird.

When he was fighting for his life, Jim had no trouble getting around with his new body. He felt light as air, bounding between trees and over rooftops- strong as _Arrrgh_ is, lifting people and things he never could have as a human- alive and aware in a way that made human senses seem _dull_.

But now that they’re at peace, working to build a new Trollmarket… it’s like he’s right back in the first moments after dragging himself out of a pond in the woods; escaping the painful darkness of Merlin’s spell, and emerging on four limbs that just didn’t want to _work right._

Jim has to remind himself, sometimes, to be bipedal and not quadrupedal. _It’s faster_ , whispers a voice of instinct he’s still struggling to reign in, and as much as he wants to disagree… he does move quicker, alternating freely between two and four limbs while running.

 _Half troll, full hunter,_ Merlin had said to his family, which Jim at the time didn’t think about too hard. Easier to wrestle with Arrrgh, on _even terms_ for the first time ever, than to think at all about the implications of his choices.

Jim has, a few times, when he forgets himself for a moment, slipped in control of his new abilities and instincts. And when he does- god, it’s like he’s _living_ for the first time. The world turns into a blur as he races the dark of night, feet hardly seeming to touch the ground- the scents of the earth filling his nose and spurring him on as he runs, and runs, and _runs-_

Until he catches the scent of something nearby, something small, and moving quickly, and smells _warm_ , and he follows it without a thought, to catch it, he has to catch it, something that’s small and quick and warm and _prey_ -

He’s ended up with three different squirrels, and one rabbit, in his hands like that.

Cooked meat tastes bad, he’s figured out. Spices that humans use taste _bad,_ now.

But raw and alive… well, it’s not just human nature to hunt he’s grappling with anymore. _Half troll, full hunter._

The other times he feels that much like a _hunter_ is when he’s fighting, but that’s a time when no one will notice if he bares his fangs more than needed, if a growl lost in the sound of battle works its way up his throat, if a _roar_ erupts from inside him and the need to claw and tear and _win_ takes over-

Snatching up forest animals is a pale comparison to a fight, but it satisfies the thing that’s now curled up inside of Jim. Enough that it _purrs_ as he looms over his prey.

But, Jim has forced himself each time to release the terrified animals. Stand up on two legs again, swallow the saliva in his mouth and shut his jaws to try and hide the rows of teeth that end in points. Be normal.

(He hasn’t felt normal in… a very long time. Maybe even before he entered and returned from the Darklands.)

It’s only been a few weeks since they arrived in New Jersey, starting the setup of New Trollmarket. Jim has been successful in hiding majority of his slips in control from Claire. She’s human. She reminds him, just by being by his side, to hold his composure together.

It’s harder, hiding it from everyone else. Jim is trying, he really is- but when he’s blowing off steam with a run through the caverns and ends up on all fours without noticing, or is mediating a conflict between trolls and getting worked up enough to nearly snarl at them to calm down and just _talk_ _civilly_ , or he gets wrapped up in a dream that turns _wrong_ and has him waking with fingers clawing into solid stone, his hackles raised, a defensive, guttural _growl_ coming from behind his fangs-

It’s hard. It’s really, really hard. He knows that trolls see him, sometimes, in his moments of lapsing control. He knows their looks range from approval to unnerved.

Jim isn’t human anymore, but he’s not troll either. He’s trapped between those two worlds and he’s struggling to find reconcile.

Jim knew there wouldn’t be any going back, knew that this is who he’d be _permanently_ , but…

He didn’t expect that fact to be so hard to accept, once the dust settled and his future as- as _this…_ was suddenly the present.

 

-/-

 

Jim figures the best cure to his problems is to throw himself headfirst into work.

It helps that there’s plenty to be done. When they’d arrived, there were already caves and tunnels in place. The network of caverns leading up to the largest one, which houses their new Heartstone, are sufficiently sized for the surviving population of Old Trollmarket. But there’s still a lot of work to do fine tuning the rock to be livable. Smoothing edges and floors, polishing and buffing walls, gathering supplies and materials to rebuild the homes and livelihoods that were lost in the invasion of Trollmarket…

With the journey having tired out everyone and the daunting task of renovations looming overhead, Jim has his work cut out for him assisting Blinky in keeping the peace. Tensions run high when people are both tired and desperate, and that’s no different with trolls than it is with humans. He’s lost track of how many times he’s had to break up a quarrel over rations, or a cave multiple trolls want for themselves, or who gets what of their building supplies, etc.

At least it’s distracting, right? He can’t think about negative stuff if all his attention is on keeping the peace and doing hard labor. And the hard labor isn’t even all that hard; as a human Jim would have been huffing and puffing to lift even a fraction of what he can now. He does eventually get tired out from it all, but in the moment it feels _great_ to exert his newfound strength and stamina.

Plus, with all the required extra effort being non-fighting related, his and Claire’s armor has been shed. Jim is thankful he wasn’t _stuck_ in his Trollhunter gear for good, just trapped in it by his survival instincts going haywire. He’d been so panicked and stressed by everything going on with his body, with Gunmar, with _Morgana-_ that his armor had read it as an imminent threat to his life, and essentially hit the panic room button.

Being stuck in his armor for days had brought up nasty déjà vu of his time in the Darklands. Jim had been grateful that once they got on the road to New Jersey and he’d eased the shaking tension in himself… the amulet had turned off on its own accord. He’d nearly cried with relief, in fact.

Of course, that meant he had the chance to take a proper look at how his body has _changed,_ but he’s also thankfully gotten good at compartmentalizing. Legs that don’t bend quite like a human’s? Skin that’s stonily tough and blue-grey in color? Countless other oddities Jim is really, _really_ not thinking about? Nope. Not happening. He’s got things to do, and sitting down and actually examining his hideous new body isn’t one of those things.

Better to focus on how _Claire_ looks out of her armor. The shiny purple metal had suited her, showcased just how fearsome a fighter she’s become, but Jim finds he still prefers how she looks in normal clothes. His favorites have to be the worn blue jeans she wears, paired with a sleeveless black cotton shirt and her hair tied up.

With her brown hair in a ponytail, it exposes the back of her neck; which, despite her arms being completely uncovered as well, weirdly draws Jim’s attention a _lot._ Claire tends to be anything but delicate, but there’s something vulnerable about her neck… faintly tanned skin usually covered by hair or a coat, practically _doll like_ amongst the majority heavy builds of trolls…

Claire looks really beautiful, flushed in her cheeks and wiping beads of sweat out of her eyes. She can’t do all the heavy lifting Jim can, but she’s pitching in just as much with the renovations. Using her slim yet strong human hands to deal with smaller jobs, helping any of the trolls that will let her; being all around fantastic, as always.

He’s been close enough four times now to see her wipe sweat off the back of her neck. Four times now he’s come close to leaning in and touching her bare skin, drawn by what he’s coming to recognize as _Claire’s_ scent, by the human warmth she’s producing, by the tantalizing baring of a weak spot…

The latter thought is what always jars him back to his senses.

Each time Claire’s turned her head, having spotted him lurking nearby, he’s managed a smile in return to hers. But, not one that’s too wide. The action of smiling makes him hyperaware of the size of his bottom fangs, and the other sharpened teeth around them.

They’ve been too busy to do more than have brief hang outs, cuddling sometimes after the night has worn down to the barest hours before sunrise. Claire, thankfully, has been too tired to do more than want to talk and then sleep in her own bed.

Jim has spent a lot of that time together hoping she doesn’t ask to do anything more. He’s… not ready to deal with how things will be different- and they _will be_ , there’s no arguing that fact.

Jim is still feeling out the bits and pieces of himself that’ve gotten shifted, been removed completely or added onto without his knowledge. He feels like he discovers something new every night, and more than half the time the discoveries unnerve him.

Plus, he’s never seen _any_ troll he knows express romantic affection. The closest he’s found is how Arrrgh and Blinky would just… be really close together, and then move back apart without doing anything. Jim has a craving for ores and raw meat, the desire to sleep curled on himself- who _knows_ what instincts he hasn’t uncovered have done to his romantic feelings?

Jim has a lot of sharp teeth, is strong enough to break stone, he’s twice Claire’s size… and he doesn’t know how any of that will affect them getting close.

He doesn’t want to ask Blinky about any of it. It’s embarrassing, and probably not a thing trolls even worry about, and it’s technically not a problem yet! Claire hasn’t asked, Jim hasn’t offered, and he’s going to keep his head in the sand as long as possible.

So. Construction work. Fight mediation. Private runs to the surface for phone signal and updating his mom and Toby about what’s going on. All things that require his full attention and keep him from thinking about what his new form might have ruined for him.

Well, what _other_ things his new form has ruined for him.

Jim accepted the mantle of Trollhunter a hundred times over, willingly gave his _everything_ for the well-being of everyone else, is preparing himself to the length of years ahead where this is his life permanently, but…

Jim misses the sun. He misses cooking. He misses wearing his favorite clothes that are too small now, and having lazy evenings spent in Toby’s room for videogames, and seeing his friends at school, and having family meals with his mom whenever she had the time-

Jim misses all those things. He misses his _home._

He shakes off those thoughts, each time they come to him. _This_ is his home now. The one he fought for, chose to protect at all costs. The home that needs him to be their guardian.

The only home he has left that will accept him, mostly, as he is now.

Jim does his best to keep busy. Lingering on those thoughts only hurts.

 

-/-

 

“I think the pawnshop guy thinks I’m either a jewel thief, or I’m holding a leprechaun hostage in my basement.”

Jim laughs. “What, having troll friends with a lot of precious metals and stones lying around too unbelievable?”

Claire rolls her eyes at him, taking another bite of her sandwich. Its ingredients are all from groceries she’s been buying for herself, venturing up aboveground with little ‘gifts’ from Blinky to trade at pawnshops. The fact that there’s so many types of jewels that trolls think are “ _pretty but useless”_ is hilarious to them both. Most of them are worth upwards of a few hundred dollars by human standards.

“ _They’re lovely to look at, but they’re rather worthless when it comes to practical uses,”_ Blinky had said to them at one point, holding a handful of gems Jim _knows_ would be worth a ton even in their raw form. Apparently, unless the jewel can be conductive for magic, it’s not all that valued by trollkind.

“I think that crystal Blinky gave me keeps this fresher than my refrigerator back home,” Claire remarks, examining the ham and cheese insides of her meal. She has a smudge of mustard on her cheek, in the corner of her mouth, and Jim reaches out automatically to wipe it away.

Claire flinches minutely, making an _“eep”_ noise at his touch. Jim yanks back his hand, startled, worried he’s done something wrong- but Claire just giggles. “Cold! Jim, you’ve _got_ to warn me when you’re gonna do that.”

“Oh, uh.” He curls his fingers into a loose fist close to himself, remembering his stony skin is now about as warm as its description. He manages a belated smile, pushing away the uncomfortable embarrassment. “Sorry, you just had something on your face. I got it, though.”

“Oh? Did I?” Claire asks, a smile curling her lips. She subtly leans closer to him, despite the space between them already being very small. “And you’re sure you got it all?”

It takes Jim a moment- he hasn’t had a lot of practice with this kind of stuff, alright?- but then the lightbulb in his brain turns on.

“Actually, I missed a little bit,” he says, playing along, and closes the last bit of distance between them. He presses a light kiss to the corner of Claire’s lips, then moving over to press another, and another- and if he weren’t being painfully, painfully careful of his fangs, Jim would be more than happy to just sigh into her mouth and let everything else disappear, press closer to Claire and wrap around her and-

Loud gasps nearby ruin the moment, and Jim reflexively pulls away from Claire. He scans their surroundings rapidly and catches the gawking of trolls milling around. Most of them avert their eyes immediately, but a few bolder ones leave their gazes to linger a moment longer.

“Wow, rude,” Claire mutters, which Jim agrees with. Though to be fair, this isn’t exactly a private spot; the two of them are taking a break from renovations, eating a quick midnight lunch on the side of what will be the troll version of a restaurant district.

Still, the onlookers are _far_ from welcome, and Jim’s lips pull back in a snarl. The scruff on the back of his neck stands up, bristling with his hostility at people _seeing_ and _judging_ and _how_ _dare they look at Claire like that-_

“Jim, hey,” Claire says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

The growl in his throat cuts off, and Jim swallows thickly to bury it further. The trolls who interrupted them are moving along, casting glances at Jim and Claire but obeying Jim’s threat for them to _leave_. Which he’d made without even a thought, completely on-

Instinct.

All at once, Jim doesn’t feel like finishing his half eaten bowl of metal shavings anymore. Hot embarrassment floods him, and he feels his long ears pin themselves to the side of his head in his sudden distress.

“Yeah,” Jim manages, a tad weakly. Trolls are still staring, though more subtly than before- and he moves a little away from Claire, all the warm joy of being close to her sucked out of him. “I’m. I’m fine. Sorry. Are you almost done? I think we should be getting back to work soon.”

“Uh, yeah, I only have a few more bites. But are you sure-”

“How about I meet you there?” Jim says, gathering up his share of lunch and Claire’s garbage as well. He’s on his feet before Claire can respond. “I’ll get a head start on where we left off, that way you can finish at your own pace and we’ll still have time for dinner with Blinky later on. Okay? Okay. Great, seeya!”

Jim once faced enemies three times his size and strength as nothing more than an ordinary human teen. Now he turns tail (not _literally,_ thank every god there is) and runs like a coward from his own girlfriend, not letting her get a word in edgewise.

Claire is absolutely going to be mad with him. Jim is too busy right now shoving down other types of shame to be overly fearful of that fact.

From the tips of his horns to the thick soles of his bare feet, Jim feels an array of conflicting emotions- all of them aimed at himself, all of them rounding up to mortification.

He dumps his unappetizing food ( _food,_ scrap metal from a junkyard is what his body considers _food_ now) on the first troll he meets, arriving back at the construction site of a smithery. Said troll takes the metal happily and downing the whole bowl in one bite- including the bowl itself. Jim’s stomach just churns and twists, and he asks the next troll he meets where he can help.

Jim ensures he doesn’t have a moment to even breathe without working on something, even after Claire rejoins them a short while later. He feels her eyes on him as he helps lift a wooden support beam into place, but Jim obstinately doesn’t let his girlfriend corner him for a chat.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say if she asks what that was. _Jim_ doesn’t even know what the hell that was. It’d been like- like the thing inside him that makes him want to hunt forest creatures suddenly rose up, picking a _new_ situation to be weird about. This time being trolls looking at him and Claire wrong. For looking at them _period._

It feels like the time that one British sounding exchange student flirted with Claire, but intensified. At least then Jim had remembered to use his words; this time all he did was _growl_ and get ready to- to-

To fight? Jim realizes he’d been ready to fight the trolls who’d seen their PDA. It’d been their own fault, kissing out in the open like that, and as good as it’d felt at the time some part of Jim is now cringing away. Doing that, and doing it _publicly,_ it abruptly feels so- so _wrong_ , and uncomfortable, and Jim is really, really tired of this shit.

He’d like it if his troll body and instincts would stop ruining nice things for him, really. Please. All he’d wanted to do was kiss his girlfriend a little, not end up feeling utterly mortified for multiple reasons.

Jim feels like he should to talk to someone about this.

He really, _really_ doesn’t want to ever breathe a word about the whole experience to _anyone._ Least of all Claire, because…

She and Toby said they didn’t mind his changes, that they cared about him anyway- but in the face of the in depth alterations to him, would they still look at him the same way?

Jim doesn’t want to find out. He doesn’t want to think about these things at all.

So instead of letting Claire catch him when they’re done with the smithery- they’re just waiting on the actual blacksmiths to finish setting up, now- Jim follows the other trolls and asks, “So what else do you guys need help with?”

Somewhere in the effort to continuously find jobs needing doing, Jim loses Claire to some other task that’s more suited to a human’s strength and dexterity. He internally berates himself for being such a god damn coward, but can’t bring himself to go looking for her until the night is nearly at an end.

Claire is in the cave they’re sharing with Blinky, cleaning herself off with a cloth and bucket of warm water. Running water from underground rivers won’t be possible for another few weeks at least, and Claire’s had to make do.

Jim, too, technically, but he’s gone a bit noseblind to his own smell. He thinks he smells fine; that trolls in general smell fine without bathing multiple times a week. Claire disagrees, and admittedly, her desire for him to be clean and the normalcy of that is all that gets Jim to bathe anymore.

(He’s a little sad when Claire washes off the grime of each night’s work. Jim isn’t sure why yet, unable to pinpoint the reason exactly- but afterwards he tends to feel the need to be closer, cuddle a little longer. It’s not overtly weird, so it’s okay… for now.)

Claire glances over at him as she’s finishing up her arms, dropping the cloth into the large bowl and leveling a look at him. Jim, despite being the larger person in the room, feels two feet tall under her gaze.

Claire pins him with her eyes for a long moment, then turns away. She picks up her bowl of water, and with all the passive aggressive anger a person can muster, primly leaves the room without a word. The shush of her curtains being drawn across her room’s doorway is heard, and Jim curls on himself in misery.

“Nice going, Lake,” he mutters angrily to himself, raising a hand to run it through his hair out of stress- only to bump into his own horns and flinch away from them. His lips pull back and he hisses, frustrated with himself, his discomfort, and his inability to just act _normally_.

Someone comes into the cave behind him, wading through the stacks of boxes carefully transported from Old Trollmarket. “Ah, Jim,” Blinky says in a warm and bright tone. Jim can almost hear the smile there. “I take it you and Claire have finished your duties for tonight? Excellent. I’ve just seen off the last of my own, so why don’t we all sit down and have a nice meal together?”

Jim glances down the length of the twisting cave they’re all inhabiting, towards the corner that rounds into what is technically the guest room. Claire is in there right now, and giving him the silent treatment. Jim’s insides twinge and he feels rotten. For Claire treating him like this, and for his actions leading up to her doing so.

“Um, we’re really tired, actually,” Jim says, nearly mumbling. “I dunno about Claire, but I think I’ll turn in early. Is that alright?”

“Oh.” Jim turns his head towards Blinky, who has set down whatever rations he brought home for dinner. His adopted guardian seems a bit put out by his words, but says, “Well, resting the body is important, especially given that you’re both human- well, part human, in your case.”

Jim’s ears flicker, nearly flattening themselves again, but he halts the urge. “Right. That’s why. So I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”

“Of course. Sleep well, master Jim,” Blinky says warmly, and Jim can barely muster a pale imitation with his own parting words. He feels Blinky’s many eyes following him out, definitely concerned, and Jim just feels even more ashamed of himself than he already had.

He curls up on his bed once he’s shut the curtain of his doorway; lying on the thin cloth mattress that _should_ be giving him bruises, sleeping on the straight up rock that forms his bed’s cubby in the wall, but in fact doesn’t. It’s actually very comfortable, and Jim is resentful of that.

_“Part of you will remain Jim, but the other part will never be the same.”_

Merlin’s voice keeps echoing in his head at the worst times, even though the sketchy old man skipped town ages ago. Jim doesn’t know where he went, and really doesn’t care to ask. He’s got enough on his plate right now without Merlin hovering, reminding him of the choice he made, of how obviously parts of him really _haven’t_ been the same-

Jim pushes those thoughts away, and tries his best to sleep instead.

 

-/-

 

Later, after a chunk of the day has passed by, Jim finds himself waking at the sound of something distantly hitting the floor. It takes him a full minute to relax his body, easing out of fight or flight tenseness. When something startles him awake, he tends to end up like that.

In the Darklands, all on his own, and even after he joined Nomura in their cells- if Jim wasn’t vigilant 24/7, he was as good as someone’s easy prey. Feeling the heat of the amulet in his pants pocket, by his hip and not burning against his chest, Jim breathes out slowly. He’s not in his armor and the air around him doesn’t smell like stagnant decomposition. He’s not there. He’s in New Trollmarket, and the sound that woke him is his girlfriend moving around in the hallway.

He’s creeping out of his bed before he realizes it, hands and feet silent as he moves across the floor. Even without his room’s light crystals activated, Jim can see perfectly fine in the darkness. He bows low to the ground, peeking under the hem of his thick curtains and seeing a light source nearby.

It takes Jim a sleepy extra minute to figure out he should stand up, rather than waltzing into Claire’s sightline like something that crawled out from under the bed.

He does so, reprimanding himself for giving into the “ _easy”_ method of getting around while tired, and remembers to politely knock on the stone beside her doorway before he enters.

“Jim?” Claire asks quietly, somehow knowing it’s him. The thought that she recognizes him just by his knock puts a pleased feeling inside him.

“Yeah,” he replies, carefully not getting hopeful. He licks the back of his longer teeth nervously. “Can I come in?”

“…sure, yeah. Come in.”

Jim enters, gingerly stepping into the low light of Claire’s room. She’s sitting on the foldout camping bed she bought after they first got here, a book in her hands and a late afternoon snack of cookies dropped on the floor. The box falling must have been what woke him, when she got up to go do something.

Claire’s hair is loose, not even her signature clips in it. The white streak stands out in the dim lighting, strands falling over her face as she looks at Jim. She looks so- soft, honestly. Dressed in comfy cotton pajamas, plus a hoodie to combat the cool atmosphere of subterranean living.

Jim really wants to be near her right now, especially since part of him has been curled up and _miserable_ for hours now; hurting over her frustration with him.

He approaches carefully, trying to not tower over her, and slowly sits on the end of the bed. It’s sturdy enough to take his weight, thank god, but he still winces a little as it squeaks.

But she doesn’t look mad at him for coming to sit, so Jim draws up his legs to himself and makes himself small. Purposefully following the instinct to look as apologetic as possible.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks tentatively.

“A little,” Claire admits, but it’s a calm, neutral tone. “You kind of ran off on me and wouldn’t talk again _all night,_ Jim.”

Jim’s ears press against his head, and he lets them. “Sorry, I-… I’m sorry. I don’t have a good explanation.”

Claire looks at him for a moment, and then closes the book she’d been reading. Setting it on her pillow, she crawls to Jim’s end of the bed; coming to a pause only as she reaches his folded legs.

This close, Jim can see the warmly brown undertone to her skin, and could feasibly count her individual eyelashes, too. He passes on the opportunity in favor of holding still and letting Claire kiss him, his eyes slipping shut and a sense of rightness returning to him.

Claire draws back, ending their chaste kiss after a few moments. The closeness is missed, but is soothed by her putting her hands on his cheeks instead. Jim puts his hands over hers, relishing in the warmth of her palms.

“Jim… you can talk to me, remember?” Claire says softly, giving him a look that’s both firm and empathetic. “Even if it’s dumb boy stuff, I’m your girlfriend. I’ll listen to you about whatever’s been bothering you.”

Jim sighs, closing his eyes and bowing his head. His hands slip away from Claire’s, and shortly after hers fall away from his cheeks as well. He misses their touch dearly.

For a beat, all the things he’s been pushing down rise up; thoughts related to his transformation and other difficult to think about subjects. Then-

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jim says, raising his head again and forcing all the unwanted feelings in himself back down. He gives Claire a small smile. “It’s just been a lot, getting this place all set up. It’s a bit more stressful to be the Trollhunter when I don’t get breaks anymore.”

Claire nods, humming sympathetically. “I’ll bet. Remember though- you’ve got me and Blinky. And Toby, and Arrrgh, and your mom; even if they’re over the phone instead of here. And Strickler, too, I guess. Does Nomura count at all? I forget if you ever managed to get to that level of friendship with her, or if she still kind of hates us.”

“I think she kind of hates everyone,” Jim offers, mostly joking, but honestly- who can tell with Nomura? She insults him majority of the conversations they have; pointing out his weak points and flaws, but then rounding off the talk by calling him by a nickname that’s halfway affectionate. Very confusing all around, but Jim suspects that’s just how Nomura is.

“Well, we’ll give her an honorary mention here,” Claire concedes. She leans up, pecking Jim’s flat nose. “Just remember, Jim. You’re not alone. If you remember that for me, I’ll forgive you for ditching me all night.”

“I promise, I know, and I will. I mean I won’t. I won’t forget that I’m not alone. How could I… when I’ve got such an amazing girlfriend?” Jim replies quietly, impressed with himself for getting that out without stuttering or resorting to Spanish, and lets Claire catch his lips for another kiss. They’re both tired, being awake at a time they really should be building up energy again for the next night, so the making out only gets so heated.

Jim tries not to feel intensely awkward and embarrassed about his fangs, or about how the texture of his tongue would be raspy against Claire’s if they went that far. He tries very, very hard to just enjoy that his girlfriend has forgiven him for being an ass.

The niggling thought that kissing like this doesn’t feel as nice as it used to… he has a difficult time shoving it away completely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is still adjusting to life in New Trollmarket. Somewhat badly.
> 
> Cue understandable teenage angst, followed by the nightly struggles of the noble but awkward Trollhunter in his duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot? in my house? nope.
> 
> well. kind of.
> 
> point being: worldbuilding abound, with more sprinkles of jim angst and headcanons.

“ _And you promise me you’re still taking it easy? Because Jim I swear, if you reinjure yourself in a completely preventable way, I’ll be on the freeway before you can even-”_

“Mom, _mom,_ I promise I’m being careful,” Jim says, gently cutting his mom off with her rant. “I heal a lot faster like- um. Like this, you know?” All the strength and stamina of a troll, added on top of the already pretty amazing healing factor of the human body. Jim might not like how he looks, but hey, there’s a few perks here and there.

“And,” Jim adds, sinking into a more comfortable slouch in his chosen tree, “Blinky wouldn’t have let me off bedrest if I didn’t have a clean bill of health, anyway.” He barely feels the rough bark through his shirt and pants, adjusting himself absently; so he can hold his cellphone against his ear easier.

“ _…well, alright, so you heal a little faster than you used to. That doesn’t mean I can’t still worry about your health, Jim,”_ his mom says, warm and sad, and augh, that goes right to the center of Jim’s heart.

Fuck, he misses his mom.

“I think it’s in your job description to do that, so I shouldn’t be surprised,” Jim replies in a steady voice, managing to swallow the sudden bolt of homesickness.

“ _Did you know? When you were little, you hardly ever cried about getting hurt. You’d scrape your knee and barely even tear up; just… coming and asking politely for a bandage,”_ his mom says, tone still warm, but edging into the territory of parental nostalgia. She sighs. _“You were always such a brave kid, Jim. You still are.”_

“Thanks, mom, I try my best,” Jim half mumbles, a little embarrassed, a lot happy for hearing his mom say stuff like that, period. He’s missed her doing this kind of thing without even knowing.

_“And your best is all I expect of you, honey. You’re brave, and kind, and so kind… oh, Jim. I miss you.”_

Jim’s throat tightens for a moment, and he presses his cellphone tighter against the side of his head; like it’ll let him feel the warmth of his mom through the phone if he gets close enough.

“I miss you, too,” Jim says, a tad thickly. Without anyone to watch, he doesn’t have to force a smile onto his lips, and so only has to bolster his tone. “But hey, you have some vacation days saved up, right? This’ll be a chance to use them. New Jersey isn’t more than a few hours away by plane...”

His mom makes a wordless affirmative noise, and _no, no, no,_ that’s definitely the tone of someone fighting the need to cry. Jim’s brain inconveniently makes the sound of a dial tone about his mom _crying_ , and he’s got no clue what he can say to mitigate the damage. Fuck, _fuck._

“Uh, hey, mom?” Jim asks, only for her to say, “ _Sorry, I just- hold on,”_ and then the line fills with shuffling sounds.

“ _Jim?”_ asks a much deeper voice after a moment; smooth and yet raspy at the same time.

“Strickler?” Jim asks back, mildly surprised and yet not.

“ _Yes, I’m… I’m supposed to hold the phone for a moment, I believe,”_ Strickler says, sounding a little confused at being put in this position, but trying to roll with it. “ _Your mother needed to go get the tissue box off the coffee table- oh, wait. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Um. Shoot.”_

Jim’s feelings of painful homesickness are abating, just a little, for hearing how awkward his former mentor is being. He rolls his eyes, roughly wiping his nose and pretending he wouldn’t also appreciate a tissue box. “It’s fine, Strickler. And are you guys… having a night together again?” That hasn’t stopped being weird, even if it simultaneously feels fairly right. Jim tries not to think about that fact too hard. Or ever.

“ _Well,”_ Strickler says in a slightly avoidant way, and that answers _that_ question.

“Takeout or dine-in this time?” Jim asks, needling Strickler further. Hey, just because it’s _weird as hell_ to have Strickler kind of, sort of, _no-one-will-admit-it_ dating his mom, doesn’t mean that Jim hasn’t been able to compartmentalize all that and get on with bugging the changeling about it.

He’s very good at compartmentalizing. He has to be, given his life and all the insanity he’s got to deal with.

“ _I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d just stop in and see how Barbara was doing,”_ Strickler says, as though he didn’t breeze through the neighborhood on purpose.

“That doesn’t answer my question whether or not you let my mom cook for you both.”

“ _…we ordered Chinese.”_

Jim laughs a little, because as much as Strickler cares about his mom, not even- and Jim’s brain does a hiccupchoke at this thought- _love_ can conquer Barbara Lake’s challenges with cooking.

“But, hey,” Jim says, finally addressing what he noticed soon as Strickler got on the phone, “wouldn’t a troll answering the door have freaked the delivery guy out? ‘cause I can hear that you’re not wearing the mask right now, Strickler.”

“ _I didn’t answer the door like this, Jim. Obviously. I wore it for dinner, but afterwards… your mother…”_ Strickler lowers his voice. “ _She’s encouraging me to be more_ open _about myself, with her.”_

The way he says it, one would think Jim’s mom was asking Strickler to do something deeply heretical and dangerous, and not just trust the people he’s close with a little more. But then again… changelings. Jim’s spent enough time being- beaten up, insulted, berated- _trained_ by Strickler and Nomura that he’s garnered what kind of world they live in.

“Sounds fun,” Jim says, completely unsympathetic to Strickler’s struggles. Of the two of them, someone has the ability to wear a glamor mask and walk in the sunlight unharmed. That someone is not Jim.

He’s only somewhat resentful of Strickler, being able to stay in Arcadia and resume his old life. It’s nothing that can be helped; Jim has his duties to the population of Trollmarket, and he’d been weak and vulnerable as they left Arcadia. He couldn’t have survived a stiff breeze, let alone another battle.

And besides. Even with the glamor mask, and that one amulet stone Jim’s forgotten the name of, which would let him walk under the sun again… it’d all be fake, and he’d be clanking around in his armor constantly. Underneath that glamor, he’d still be…

Jim looks at the four digits on his unoccupied hand, and clenches them into a fist.

Even if he _tried_ living as a human that way, he’d still be a mash of human and troll underneath- and not even an attractive mash, either. It wouldn’t be long before he’d just… get sick of it, probably. Pretending to be someone he isn’t anymore.

Adding onto that, it likely wouldn’t take long for him to do something inhuman and blow his cover anyway. Here he can hide it, because inhuman is _normal_ , but if he started scenting people in the supermarket, or dropping onto all fours when he was thinking hard about something and absently wanted to be comfy while he did… yeah, no. It would _not_ go well.

Maybe for a vacation, once they have the gyre station built, but for now… this is Jim’s life. Twenty-four seven, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year…

“ _Your sincerity in that statement is overwhelming,”_ Strickler says dryly, drawing Jim back to the conversation.

“I’ll bet,” he replies, trying for blithely, but coming out closer to strained.  Strickler makes a vaguely disgruntled sound at him. It’s familiar enough that Jim manages to relax again.

Strickler might have been a real thorn in his side for a while there, but the changeling proved himself trustworthy. Regarding Jim’s mom, at least; even if Jim is all the way out in New Jersey, he knows that it’ll be a cold day in hell before Strickler lets anything happen to the woman he loves.

Jim silently shudders, having to think that thought again.

They trade only slightly stilted small chat a while longer. Jim asks how Arcadia has been coping with the rebuilding, to clean up all the damage Gunmar and Morgana did. Strickler says that they’ve been doing as well as they can. Strickler asks Jim how the new market is going so far, a tinge of disgust for the population that once threatened to execute him. Jim replies that it’s going fine. He then adds that he, Claire, and Blinky are all doing fine, too. Strickler scoffs at Blinky’s name. Jim pretends to not notice. They both very carefully do not discuss anything to do with just what Strickler and Jim’s mom get up to these days.

“ _Hi, sorry,”_ his mom says a little while later, having taken the phone back from Strickler. Her voice is even and only the slightest bit hoarse. “ _I think those extra shifts at work are still getting to me. We hadn’t had a code black like that in ages, let alone multiple ones in so few days.”_

“It’s okay,” Jim says truthfully. They’d strayed down a melancholy path of conversation anyway, as they sometimes tend to. It doesn’t _always_ go like that, but it happens enough that Jim feels trepidation for broaching topics more serious than the weather.

But then again, as much as Jim misses his mom, he’s glad at least that she misses him equally. Even if he’s not the son she used to have.

They talk a while longer, telling each other about their day’s (and night’s) activities. That’s what they’d been doing before they accidentally made themselves upset. Talking about the influx of patients in the hospital finally dying down led to talk of Jim’s health, which led to everything else, and so forth. They actually manage to stay in neutral territory, this time around.

But still, by the time they both say goodnight and hang up, the mopey feeling of homesickness has made its way back into the center of Jim’s chest. Nestling in right next to the bittersweet happiness of getting to talk with his mom; even just for an hour or so each evening, and then maybe for forty-five minutes in the pre-dawn hours. When they both have time that is; Jim has his duties as Trollhunter, and his mom as a doctor.

Truth be told, it’s not all that different than how things used to be, but now Jim doesn’t get a hug and kiss goodbye. Total lack of physical affection, even if they try to make up for it purely conversationally. That’s the tipping point that leaves him feeling unfulfilled after each call.

Jim sighs as he tucks his phone into his pocket; where it’ll hopefully stay the whole journey back to Trollmarket. He’s nearly dropped it a few times, trying out more creative gymnastic routines through the tunnels back down.

Jumping down from the tree, Jim starts a steady jog back to the hidden entrance to New Trollmarket. The exercise will help him shake the excess emotions. It usually does. Quieting his mind and focusing his thoughts back on productive things. Not as much as fighting does, of course. When he’s fighting, it’s like there’s nothing else in the world but him and his opponent. It’s not tranquility, but battle calm is certainly akin to that.

Jim is a little concerned how often the thought of fighting occurs to him, these days. He can’t tell if it’s because peace is just not something he’s used to anymore, or if it’s yet another side effect of being a troll now.

Seeing as trolls very much have a warrior culture going for them- complete with casual violence in abundance and a near utter lack of casual affection- Jim is afraid it’s the latter. He’s possibly just Like That, now.

Another cheery thought for the beginning of his night. Joy.

Jim decides to pick up the pace, push himself a little harder to not think much at all. Things to do, places to be and all that. Once he’s at the flatter side of a rocky hill that’s serving as a temporary entrance, he opens the doorway with his crystal, and then slips inside to really cut loose with his run.

His phone doesn’t fall out of his pocket, but most of Jim’s troubling thoughts do fall away.

 

-/-

 

One of the most interesting things about troll biology is that some can handle molten rock without any issue at all.

It’s been an important part of the renovations, superheating rock and molding it into the correct shape. Of course, the portions of the market that get that treatment are few, seeing as they only have so many trolls trained in the skill. There used to be more, but…

Some died during the fighting, and before that Gunmar and Morgana took others; corrupting them into Gum-Gum soldiers, and then… Jim’s efforts to kill Gunmar set off a chain reaction that killed all the enslaved trolls.

No one has confronted Jim about that. None of the surviving trolls have come up to him and forced him to look them in the eyes; to acknowledge that whether he meant to or not, he indirectly killed their friends and family.

Jim doesn’t know how he’ll react, should someone ever confront him about that heavy, guilt drenched fact. But, he does know he wouldn’t blame anyone for being angry with him.

There’s been so much going on since the battle, he’s thankfully only had a few scattered moments to think of the lives he couldn’t save. When the market is rebuilt anew and things have settled… then he’ll mourn. Just like everyone else will.

Watching the rock shapers work brings those thoughts to Jim’s mind; observing from a distance their efforts to create the memorial stone, nearby the Heartstone. It’s being built steadily from large chunks of stone, melted and smoothed over and over as each piece is added. It’s been a slow going process, as other structures took priority; but now that the market is on the other side of halfway built, there’s spare thought for decorum and ceremony.

It’ll be large, the memorial stone. Grand as the size may be, the reason behind it needing to be so big is not a pleasant one.

They couldn’t bring with them the stone corpses of the fallen to mourn them the usual way, and even if they could have, nearly all of them were shattered close to dust. Half of them mixed together into inseparable piles, the rest lost in the rubble of buildings and tunnels. No, there wasn’t any way to honor them the traditional troll way; especially those enslaved. Gunmar not only stole their bodies and minds in life, but in death, too. Transformed like they were, even _if_ they got all the pieces together again… there wouldn’t have been any way to tell who was who.

The hours after the battle, dust still drifting in the air… Jim had been in shock, body growing heavier with each step as his adrenaline crashed and his wounds dragged him towards complete exhaustion. He’d still been aware enough though, to see and hear the grief of Trollmarket’s survivors.

Trolls don’t express emotion or affection or even relationships like humans do. But, in the face of that much loss, that much death… Jim hadn’t seen any difference between each species. If he tried, he probably could recall those murky hours easily. The cries had rung in his ears for days afterwards.

So, the memorial stone. With all the names of those lost to the invasion and final battle carved into its surface, it’ll be the mass grave for them all.

Everyone Jim failed to save.

Including Draal.

The thought of his friend’s death send a shudder through his center, parts of him nearly crumbling all over again. _Later,_ Jim reminds himself, refusing to let the tide of guilt and grief swallow him. When the stone is finished and the market is rebuilt, he’ll let himself mourn properly.

Draal would have laughed at him anyway, for getting so emotional.

He takes a slow breath, moving past the stinging in his eyes and throat. Jim stands, walking to the edge of the overhang of rock he’d been resting on. He figures he’s spent enough time indulging his curiosity of the molten rock craftsmanship, as well as his need to beat himself up over his failings. Dropping down into the busy street, Jim puts his back to the Heartstone and memorial stone.

Weaving between bodies around him, Jim thinks to himself that maybe he’ll seek out Claire and Blinky. Not long after he’d come back from phoning his mom, Jim had only snagged a few minutes of his girlfriend’s company over a rushed breakfast/dinner. Then, quick as anything, Blinky and a collection of trolls who talked like him (read as: very intelligently, and very _wordy_ ) had all but abducted Claire.

For the work of organizing the archives and library, apparently. Jim had very sensibly not indicated in any way that he would be helpful in that effort (and honestly, he probably wouldn’t). He’d stick with managing civil disputes and hefting construction materials; it’d strain his brain and eyes less.

By now though, they had to have gotten through the worst of things, right? So even if he did get roped into helping, it would be less torturous than it could have been.

…And he’ll make sure to bring a nice late night snack to Claire, seeing as he’d all but abandoned her to that fate. Something for Blinky, too. They can all have a nice break together, which is a thought that makes a warm spot inside Jim’s chest.

With that thought in mind, Jim has a bit more pep in his step as he goes along; going so far as to jauntily lope. Until he trips over something, that is. And then trips over another thing, and another, and so forth as he tries and fails to correct his balance. He goes tumbling into a pile of boxes set outside what will be someone’s shop.

Jim isn’t injured, as it takes serious effort to even dent him these days, but _dammnit._ Adjusting to being so much bigger continues to be a struggle that plagues him. He didn’t even notice something was in his way.

Shoving the boxes away from himself as he sits up, Jim checks quickly to see what’s tripped him- it’s _moving-_ and finds himself meeting multiple pairs of curious eyes.

“Oh, uh,” Jim says, blinking. He clears his throat, ignoring an odd twinge in the back of it that’s there and gone in the blink of an eye. “…Hi there?”

Among the pack of tiny trolls, one of them squeaks in response; hiding behind a kid that’s slightly larger. There are five of them all together, and Jim thinks he vaguely recognizes the ones that come up to his knees. During the short stops to rest on the way here, he remembers seeing glimpses of troll children being allowed to run around, so long as they stuck to their family’s side like glue.

“You kicked us!” accuses the kid slightly bigger than the rest. He- Jim is pretty sure the kid is a boy, his scent says so but that’s not a guarantee- has mottled green skin and horns that resemble a bull’s.

“Sorry, but- I tripped, not kicked,” Jim defends automatically, taking in the rest of the group. Two look related, with similar horns curving backwards and red-orange skin. The other duo is definitely not related; one looking like the troll race Nomura is a part of, and the other on the short and round side. The former a glossy orange, the latter a blue edging towards navy.

“Same difference,” says mottled green kid, huffing angrily.

“Are you really the Trollhunter?” asks one of the siblings, peering at Jim where he’s been toppled.

“You smell weird,” comments the other sibling.

“I- excuse you, that’s actually kind of rude. I smell like me, that’s all,” Jim says, getting off the ground. The kids stare up at him incredulously, definitely not accepting his explanation.

“…I’m also part human,” Jim admits. “I got turned into a troll recently.”

“See, told ya it’s the same guy,” says the Nomura looking troll, who could be her younger sibling if Jim didn’t know better (and couldn’t smell the difference in their scents, too).

“Why’re you a troll _now?”_ asks navy blue kid.

“That’s- that’s a very complicated question,” Jim replies. How’s he supposed to explain the incredibly confusing and chaotic series of events that led him to where he is now? To a _kid,_ at that. Jim can barely make sense of it himself, and he’s the one who _lived it._

“Where’s your armor?” asks a sibling.

“It’s-”

“You’re kinda skinny,” says the not-Nomura-related troll, “like my dad.”

“Hey, I’m not that-”

“Can all fleshbags turn into trolls?” asks navy blue kid.

“Uh, well, no, _but_ -”

“Did you really kill Gunmar and blow up our home?” demands the mottled green kid.

“No what- well I mean I did kill him, but I didn’t blow up-”

“My mommy said you still have a human partner,” says the other sibling, “even though you’re a troll and you’re both _too young_ for that kinda stuff.”

The two siblings nod together. “Mommy says no good troll,” says one, as the other says, “Has partners a’fore they’re at least two hundred.”

“…Where are your parents?” Jim asks in a strained voice. He remembers very, very well how disastrously the parenting project went for him in school. And the Enrique-who-was-actually-Notenrique event before that. Kids are not Jim’s strong point.

“Around,” says green kid vaguely. Jim wants to groan.

Yeah, there is definitely no one watching these five kids. Jim is still catching up on troll culture, but he’s almost certain that- fledglings? Trollings? He’s forgotten the right term- kids under the age of sixty or something aren’t ever left alone. And even then, Jim rarely sees troll children away from their adults at all.

“Okay, here’s an idea,” Jim says, gathering himself, “why don’t you tell me your names and then we go find whoever’s probably looking for you. Sound good?”

“We can’t stop now, we’re exploring,” says not-Nomura kid, using a very serious tone to do so.

“Did you tell anyone you were going exploring?” Jim asks, because while he’d been a relatively mild kid, he and Toby _definitely_ got up to some dumb adventures when they were little. Particularly the times when they knew they were doing something stupid, and thus didn’t inform anyone where they were going.

Jim is treated with all five kids averting their eyes guiltily. And that answers that question.

“Alright,” Jim says, “why don’t we go tell your families where you’ve been, and then we see about more exploring later. _Supervised_ exploring. This place isn’t safe to run around without an adult yet, you see?” He gestures around himself, at all the still ongoing construction. “You could get hurt if someone isn’t keeping an eye on you.”

“Nuh uh, I’m almost fifty-eight! I can take care of myself.” Green kid sure is confident, huh? Jim doesn’t want to shatter the kid’s dreams, but if sixteen is potty training age, then fifty isn’t even kindergarten age yet. Probably. The conversion is a little wonky, and Jim missed most of his last year of schooling on top of never having time to study those books Blinky kept giving him. He’ll quit trying to figure things before he gets a headache.

“Take that up with your parents, kiddo,” Jim says dubiously. Green kid scowls at him; Jim ignores the expression and ushers them along. “Now come on, let’s go find them. And- _yes_ , before you ask, you gotta do what I say because I’m the Trollhunter and it’s my job to keep you safe. My adopted father is the leader of Trollmarket, too. So doubly you gotta do what I say, ‘cause it’ll keep you safe and… stuff.”

“You’re lame,” mutters green kid, dragging his feet as they walk.

“Am not,” Jim argues. He’s just a little frazzled lately.

“Are _too.”_

Jim opens his mouth to argue again, and then remembers that this is a child and he’s supposed to be the noble Trollhunter, guardian and protector of trollkind. He shuts his mouth and shakes his head at his own behavior.

As they search for likely harried and worried parents, Jim does eventually get each of their names. Scry and Dres for the siblings (a boy and girl, fraternal twins possibly); Maimdrial, or just _Maim_ for short, being the navy kid (boy, with a very charming name); Asuul for not-Nomura kid (girl, probably, her scent is odd); and, after a lengthy bout of complaining, green troll kid grudgingly says his name is Tyrannicous (boy, definitely boy).

Or it’s just Ty, if he likes you. Ty does not like Jim. He demands Jim call him his full name. Jim says he will, while silently deciding to always call him _Ty_ in his head. On the account of Ty deliberately stepping on Jim’s toes three times, practically in a row.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s the principal of the thing. Jim resists growling even just a little at Ty, as annoying as it gets to be.

Jim had had a hunch that even if they didn’t stumble across the parents, his destination in mind would result in the kids being reunited with their families anyway. Blinky definitely knows more of the trolls in the market than Jim does. He’s also the person that everyone comes to with their problems these days, so Jim is unsurprised to see the frantic parents have beaten them to Blinky.

“Hey, I think I have who you’re looking for,” Jim announces, waving at everyone. The parents’ faces light up and they call for their kids; said kids running to meet them immediately, excluding Ty. Ty feels the need to stomp on Jim’s toes one last time.

“ _Why?”_ Jim exclaims, hopping away from Ty. Ty sticks out his tongue and runs to… a troll that doesn’t look anything like him, and had been already holding the siblings.

Huh. Adoption, maybe? Maybe step-siblings somehow, even though Jim is pretty sure marriage isn’t a thing for trolls?

…Where do kid trolls come from anyway? Jim remembers something about Gunmar coming from an egg, but other than that… and to get an egg two trolls would have to… but no one so much as even _kisses._

Jim takes that thought, and gently shunts it to the side of his mind to be forgotten. Better to focus on his approaching girlfriend than confusing biology questions; especially when they call into question _his_ new confusing biology.

“Hi, Claire,” Jim says, smiling at her. “You having fun with the paperwork?”

“Oh, just tons,” Claire replies, rolling her eyes. “Papercuts were exactly what I wanted tonight. But hey, Jim, I didn’t know you spoke troll. When’d you learn?”

“I what now?” Jim asks.

“You’re speaking it, like right now,” Claire says, giving him an odd look now.

“No I’m not, what?”

“Jim… you _are.”_

“No I’m _not-”_ Jim cuts off, finally _listening_ to himself, and shuts his mouth with a click. That. Was definitely not English.

“What the hell,” he mutters, and feels the twinge in his throat appear again, then disappearing as his words slide back into English. Human and troll languages require different methods of pronunciation, right down to how the voice box works, and Jim _still_ hadn’t noticed he’d shifted between the two.

“So… not on purpose, I’m guessing.” Claire eyes Jim up and down, expression conflicting; like she can’t decide if she’s worried or if she’s amused.

“Nope,” Jim says, rubbing his throat. A thought occurs to him. “Oh fuck, _Merlin._ It’s another- another side effect he didn’t feel like explaining before he left. _God_ , why does this kind of thing keep _happening_ to me? _”_

“I think you’re just that lucky,” Claire says comfortingly, reaching up to rub Jim’s bicep. Her lips are definitely quirking into a small smile, which means she’s closer to amused than worried, now. Jim is hurt, really, that his own girlfriend would find his mild distress funny.

“Can I have a karmic refund?” Jim mutters, a tad sullen.

“I doubt it. But hey, at least this is a useful side effect?” Claire encourages. “Now you’ll have no trouble communicating even with trolls who don’t speak English. Or Spanish. I found some that speak Spanish, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Jim asks, desperate for something to distract himself with. As usual, tonight’s discovery of his body’s changes is unsettling to him. It’s one thing for Merlin to have altered his body, but his _mind?_

This is a step above just unwanted instincts. This feels really, really invasive, in all honesty. Jim stoops a little, tucking himself against Claire’s side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He relaxes a little, being in contact with his girlfriend.

“Yep,” Claire says, leaning into Jim’s gentle hold. “I told them they’ve got a neat accent, and they said I have a neat one, too. In troll, I mean.”

“Ahuh?” Jim prompts. Claire could talk about anything she wanted right now, and he’d pay rapt attention. So long as he can ignore the bloom of quiet panic and dysphoria in the back of his head.

“Yeah, it was actually really fun to compare perspectives and languages. The cadence of troll is similar to a few European languages, so it isn’t that hard to translate. It makes me kind of wonder if at one point we all interacted freely enough to mix cultures…”

Jim listens dutifully to his (very smart, very pretty) girlfriend talk about language comparisons, up until Blinky breaks away from calming the parents and kids down and approaches Jim with an enthusiastic, “Jim, my boy! You’ve been practicing your troll haven’t you? And already so well spoken at that. Why, I could barely hear a hint of accent!”

Jim winces a little internally, because studying has been the _last_ thing on his mind lately. “Ha ha, yeah…” It sucks to crush the pride in Blinky’s expression, but Jim doesn’t want to lie. “But, um, actually, I think it has more to do with the amulet and… my transformation, honestly. Sorry, Blinky.”

“Oh, I see,” Blinky says, joy sobering for a moment. Then he bolsters himself again, grinning widely. “Nonetheless, it’s wonderful to hear you speaking troll, Jim. It will no doubt come in handy in the future; especially since you’ve attained such a natural sounding skill at it. The tribunal leaders will be much more likely to respect you if you address them in their own language.”

“They didn’t respect me before?” Jim asks in a wry tone, to which Claire laughs. He tucks her a little closer to himself, tempted to maneuver around to her back and prop his chin on her head. She smells nice, it’s hard to resist.

Blinky shrugs, because ‘not respecting’ him is an understatement of fact. Trusting a random teenage human as Trollhunter? It would have been easier to convince them to respect a gnome Trollhunter.

“Let’s step inside, then, shall we?” Blinky says abruptly, gently starting to herd them towards the mouth of the library cavern.

“Why? I was thinking I could go get us a snack, since I got them back to their families,” Jim says, nodding at the parents starting to separate from each other with their respective children. Ty makes a disgusted face at Jim over the shoulder of his parent. Jim nearly makes one back. What is that kid’s problem?

“Well, because,” Blinky says, lowering his voice, “there _are_ other trolls here, you two.”

“Uh, yeah?” Claire gives Blinky a confused look. “They’re also leaving right now. And we’re not even doing anything?”

Blinky shakes his head, sighing. “Humans.”

Jim and Claire glance at each other. _Trolls._ So weird.

“I’ll be in the back for a while, so don’t mind me. You’ll have the whole front area to yourselves,” Blinky informs them, once they’re deeper into the stacks of half unpacked archive boxes. He gives them both an affectionate if brief pat on the back, and then bustles off into the depths of the unfinished library.

“What was that about?” Claire wonders aloud.

“I honestly have no idea,” Jim replies. Now that they’re alone, he listens to the earlier idea to move behind Claire and put his chin on her head; enjoying the texture of her dark hair and her scent and having her so close to him.

“Weird. First those other trolls, now Blinky…” Claire mumbles, half to herself. She’s allowing Jim to keep holding her like he is, and he appreciates that. He missed her the few hours they were apart. “Whatever. You said something about food?”

“Oh yeah, food,” Jim says, remembering the original goal he’d had in mind. He’d nearly forgotten it with the kids interrupting him, and then getting the chance to be with Claire again. “Wanna get some snacks before you start slogging away again?”

“Please,” Claire says gratefully. “I’m dehydrated and I think my right eye is getting a permanent twitch. Think we could track down that one food cart again, with the bubbly flavored water I’m not asking the ingredients of?”

Jim remembers that cart’s scent and owner; very distinct, even among the growing density of food smell in the restaurant district. “Sure,” he agrees. It shouldn’t take him more than a few minutes to pick out the scent, should they be unable to spot it visually. Jim cups a hand to his mouth, calling out, “Blinky! We’re going for a snack, do you want anything?”

Blinky’s head pokes around a corner, unusually cautious as he looks towards them. Then, finding (or not finding) whatever he’s looking for, he steps further into sight to call back, “Just something small, if you could. I’m watching my diet these days.”

“Got it,” Jim says, and reluctantly steps away from Claire. Her hand slips into his, though, so it’s alright. As they go to walk out of the cavern, he thinks he hears Blinky make an aborted sound. When Jim looks back, his adoptive guardian has disappeared again.

Again: Trolls. So weird.

…Jim being case and point, because as they start their journey towards their destination, a prickly feeling of indignation returns to Jim. One he recalls feeling, that recent time when trolls around them took offense to Jim kissing his girlfriend.

Fewer trolls are looking at them this time, but still. They’re giving Jim and Claire side glances for just _holding hands_ , _come on._

Jim levels a _look_ at trolls who stare too long, and refuses to let go of Claire’s hand. Even if something twinges and shrinks inside him for other people _seeing_.

Augh. Why can’t his life be simple anymore? _Ever?_

Jim is almost certain he doesn’t deserve things to be this complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't even mean to make those oc kids, but now that i have they're actually really useful for stuff later on. (i mostly just like trolls giving jim grief tho, bc it's cute when he's struggling.)
> 
> personally speaking, based on what some people are saying about jim having the option of resuming his old life anyway and etc, i kind of disagree. kid has a ton of major changes to adjust to before he'll have a shot at navigating society like that again, on top of being p much bound to wherever the bulk population of trollmarket is. the glamor mask and that stone are all well and good as solutions, but they're just cover ups and quick fix-its in the long run. jimbo gotta accept himself and deal with his backlog of dysphoria+ptsd before he can try those things. in my opinion, of course. yall can do whatever the hell you want with those ideas.
> 
> also, stricklake. they're cute. more on them in the future when the gyre is fixed, because i have Plans. so many plans for everyone.
> 
> next time: i finally do more than reference my knife wife, and actually bring my favorite morally dubious lady into things. bless nomura.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m a damaged teenager,” Jim continues belligerently, smacking NotEnrique’s hands away from the tins of tea, “I need care and support and people to _respect boundaries.”_
> 
> Or
> 
> A lot of things happen all at once, and Jim handles it. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featured this chapter:
> 
> -my WIFE, my favorite morally ambiguous lady, the very best villain-turned-weird-family-member. nomura i love you so much.  
> -Jim Has Angst, As Usual.  
> -nomura also has angst.  
> -the author draws out the comfort part of hurt/comfort by two chapters.  
> -claire "i'm fine" nunez.  
> -changelings in general.

More often than he’d like it, the time spent helping with construction and conflict mediation isn’t enough to keep Jim’s nerves in order.

It doesn’t make sense, honestly. The war is over, their enemies are all dead- but he’s still got a purpose, though, helping rebuild the market, continuing to act as guardian to all of trollkind… and every night (and sometimes some of the day) is filled with a hundred little activities that require his attention (or at least, draw it long enough he uses up his energy, and can rest dreamlessly later).

But then come the nights where even after he’s done all that, Jim finds his thoughts chasing each other in circles. _What if_ scenarios for the most part, or just… noise. Thoughts that don’t have a cause or an answer to them, which twist and churn and make Jim’s skull feel tight and itchy.

He scratches restlessly at his horns, those nights. Unless he’s got something to distract him, to occupy his hands and body, he’ll absently scratch and tug at his new additions. Pulling on his neck scruff, licking the backs of his sharper canines over and over, rocking on his oddly jointed heels as he tries and fails to find somewhere his eyes can finally settle.

A lot of the time, those nights, he’ll find someone to latch onto. Claire or Blinky; tailing after either of them or both of them, should he run out of chores and errands. And then sometimes the itchy, circling thoughts will appear on the same nights that he’s run into one too many things below his new sightline, caught growls coming from him instead of words more than twice, kept _feeling_ things that he couldn’t put names to, but definitely, absolutely felt uncomfortable with …

And he just. Can’t be around people, those nights. Can’t be around Blinky, can’t be around _Claire,_ especially, or even the general masses of the market. Not until Jim has run aimlessly through enough tunnels that his breathing is ragged and his limbs faintly ache and his mind is _quiet._

And, instead of running, because you can only run the same length of tunnels so many times before it becomes boring-

Sometimes Jim goes climbing.

The sides of the largest caverns are craggy and covered with outcropping stone. Trolls are already starting to inhabit tunnels and caves lower down, but higher up is still untouched and unoccupied. After all, most of the trolls living here don’t even have the right physicality to make it up this high.

Jim will pick a spot that falls into shadows, and climb until he’s so high he can make out the texture of the cavern’s ceiling if he tries. It’s easy, like most physical stuff is for him now days. And it’s up here that he feels more comfortable… with himself, how he can move his body.

No one is watching, and his thoughts are focused on not falling to his death, instead of all the changes that’ve taken place in him. His fingers and toes- he doesn’t need shoes, the soles of his feet aren’t even tickled by rock anymore- grip the stone without issue, letting him boost himself up higher and higher.

Jim puts an arm up onto the ledge of his favorite outcropping, hoisting himself up to it and turning his head backwards for a moment. Jim can only see the faraway lights of the market below, up here; whole stories between him and the ground. It’s good, times like this, to have distance from everything and everyone. There’s only one person up here, and that’s him.

A scent tickles his nose, which until just then, had been downwind of him. But the shift in the cavern’s drafts brings it his nose, and-

The tip of something sharp touches his scalp, tracing near his horn base. “You defeated Gunmar, but you’re still sloppy, little Gynt.”

Jim slowly tilts his head, looking up at the acid green eyes set into a bright pink face.

“Hi, Nomura,” Jim greets politely, giving her a smile. The changeling rolls her eyes and takes her claw off his head.

“Had I been your enemy, you would be _dead_ thrice over _,”_ she tells him, scuttling (gracefully, somehow) over to the far side of the ledge. “ _Once_ when I yank you up by your horns and stab you. _Twice_ when I drop you to be shattered on the cavern floor. _Thrice_ when I come down and stomp on your dust for being such a fool.”

“I, uh, don’t know if I turn to stone when I die, actually,” Jim points out, hauling himself up the rest of the way. “So that’s one hole in that scenario.” He draws his legs underneath him as he does, crouching in a way that belatedly reminds him of a gargoyle.

Which… he kind of has the looks for now? Yeah.

“The other hole in that sequence of events is that I know you wouldn’t do any of those things to me,” Jim continues, ignoring his own thoughts and sitting with crossed legs instead. “At least. Not anymore.”

“And how can you be so certain, little Gynt?” Nomura asks in a low purr, flashing him deadly sharp teeth and a grin like a knife’s edge. All threat, all posturing.

“Well, you’re using a nickname for me,” Jim says, and almost laughs when Nomura’s expression sours. “Plus, I think you actually kind of like me. So yeah. I doubt you’ll kill me three times over.”

“Tch. You’re too trusting, boy,” Nomura says in disgust. “We taught you the three rules of changelings, didn’t we? I certainly remember beating it into that thick skull of yours enough it should have stuck. For all you know, I’m using you for my own ends and have a knife ready for your back.”

Her words flow over him harmlessly; the same kind of derivative lecturing she gives him whenever he’s failed to measure up, or when she’s in a bad mood, or… when she’s feeling defensive about something.

Jim looks his friend over, seeing the stiffness in her posture and the way she’s holding herself defensively. He frowns. Nomura has been a scarce sight since they arrived, but what few snatches of her presences Jim has seen, she’s seemed only as suspicious and prickly as she always is. Right now though… it’s different.

There’s a thread of real tension in Nomura that shouldn’t be there.

“Who spat in your glug?” he asks. Jim sniffs instinctively, shifting to be closer to her. He gets the distant smells of Trollmarket, of the trolls living down there, the weirdly ozone like smell changelings seem to have under their own personalized scents, and something… _off_ …

Nomura hisses, following up the sound with a threatening growl at Jim’s advances towards her. Jim reels back on reflex, putting distance between her claws and his face- and sees Nomura visibly favoring her side as she tries to conceal the source of the _offness_ to her scent. Sharp and salty as Jim recognizes it, finally being in close enough quarters that Nomura’s being downwind doesn’t hide it.

“You’re _hurt,”_ Jim exclaims, moving to get closer again, only to flatten his ears against his skull and retreat as Nomura rises and hisses at him. He’s fought dozens of opponents three times both their size, but Nomura is _scary,_ she nearly _killed him_ too many times to count, and even if she hasn’t drawn them, her twin swords are on her back as always.

“I’m _fine,”_ Nomura snaps, words rasping from the tone and her hissing both.

“I can smell the blood, you’re _not,”_ Jim refutes, and something in him rails, gets _angry._ “Who did that?” he demands, a growl working its way up his throat. “ _Who?”_

“It’s none of your business who!” Nomura hisses, and while one hand remains on the shallow wound in her side, the other goes to the handle of a curved blade. “ _Back off,_ Trollhunter. I’m giving you one chance to do so before I kick you off this ledge.”

When was the last time she called him Trollhunter with that intent? Angry and hateful, like when they were still enemies. Jim’s pointed ears are still flat against the sides of his head as he reluctantly backs up, pressing to the very edge of their outcropping. He doesn’t like Nomura acting like she hates him again, it almost- _hurts_ , in a way. Feels… wrong.

And not just because she’s his friend, and he cares about her even if she says mean and scary things a lot of the time. No, it’s a different kind of wrongness, and another flavor of weird that’s infecting Jim.

He clenches his jaw. This is what he came up here to get _away from,_ but now Nomura is here and _hurt_ and not letting him _help her_ , and discomfort Jim had wanted to escape is rising back up in him.

Slowly, Nomura lowers herself back down into a crouch- more of a curl around her side, now that Jim knows what to look for. And as he sees that tell, he notes an amount of disarray to her appearance that Nomura normally wouldn’t ever allow. A slight muss to her long inky hair, smudges of dirt in places they shouldn’t be, a bruise around her wrist that’s blooming steadily; all evidence of what’s been done. They sit for a few moments, silent in their own clouds of brooding, and Jim finds himself studying each and every detail of Nomura’s unadmitted fight with someone.

“…It’s not bad, is it?” Jim asks, after managing to shove down the hot anger of Nomura being hurt.

Nomura huffs. “Of course not. It’s barely more than a scratch.”

The way she phrases it… Jim is reminded strongly of their time in the Darklands, trapped in crystal cages together and never certain the other would come back alive, each time they were separated. And then the downplaying of injuries when they _did_ come back, battered and bleeding, but _still alive._

“Do you promise me you’ll be okay?” Jim says, looking hard at the glow of Trollmarket below, pushing away the sludgy feeling of those days spent on the fine edge between life and death, hope and despair.

Nomura is quiet for a moment, then says,

“Yes. You don’t have to worry, little Gynt. It won’t take more than a good day’s rest to put me to rights.”

Jim closes his eyes, inhales, and breathes out a sigh of relief. She’s telling the truth.

“Good,” he says simply, and hopes Nomura knows just how important it is that she’ll get better without issue. “But… please, it’s my _job_ to keep all trolls safe. Let me… at least tell me how that happened? No names, I just…”

Jim peeks over at Nomura, her lack of response drawing out. She doesn’t look as cornered as she did before; simply sitting in a way that speaks of mild pain, but nearly calm despite it.

“…You say it’s your job to keep all trolls safe?” Nomura questions, and slides one slit pupiled eye towards him- pinning Jim with her gaze. “You forget, hunter. I am a changeling, not a troll. We have no guardian angel to watch out for us.”

Jim sits up, offended by that statement. “That doesn’t matter. Half troll, all troll- whatever. You’re still someone I’m supposed to protect. I answer _every call…_ especially when it’s from a friend.”

Nomura watches him, examining him closely… before huffing and turning her gaze towards the market below.

“If only others were so blindly accepting, little Gynt,” she says, and her tone carries a rare hint of vulnerable emotion. Regret, almost sadness…

“…Why did they hurt you?” Jim asks, daring to move towards the halfway point between them. Closer, but not close enough to reach Nomura.

“Why else?” Nomura scoffs. “Because an impure belongs nowhere, least of all among trollkind. It’s hardly the worst I’ve ever dealt with.”

“Why didn’t anyone say something about this?” Jim always knows when there’s a fight, trolls are vocal about exploits and conflicts. How did he miss _Nomura_ of all people being targeted?

“Trolls don’t care what happens to a changeling,” Nomura says bitterly, fangs flashing in a snarl. “They wouldn’t sell each other out to the Trollhunter over a spat with me, not when you’re so… _soft-hearted_.”

“And your friend?” Jim offers, accepting the soft-hearted comment, and burying the flash of anger about someone doing this, _multiple trolls doing this,_ and then _hiding it_ from him.

He wants to find them, and give them a reminder of what _decency_ and _respect_ is. He wants to do that, and do it with a snarl on his lips and a growl in his throat and Daylight in his hands. He wants that so badly he doesn’t even care about the distant part of him that’s unnerved by the fury.

No one hurts his friends and gets away with it. _No one._

“A changeling is no one’s friend,” Nomura replies quietly, hand pressing tighter to her injured side. Even quieter, she adds, “We’re barely friends to ourselves, little Gynt.”

“Bullshit,” Jim snaps, and he can practically hear his mom’s reprimand for the language. (He misses her so very, very much.) He then winces a little sheepishly; catching Nomura’s subtly startled expression. “Sorry, what I mean is… I know for a fact that I never would have made it out of the Darklands without you, and what you and Strickler did for me with training… some of it probably saved my life, when things came down to the wire. You keep saying you don’t like any of us, and that you’re not my friend… but you’re still here, aren’t you? Even though you could’ve left whenever you wanted.”

He means both that she’s still sitting here and letting him talk at her, and that she’s _here_ , in New Trollmarket, even though she could have vanished back into the world’s shadowy underbelly at any time. Nomura doesn’t _need_ to be in Trollmarket, he knows she could survive without its protection of numbers and his guardianship of it… but she’s living here still, where Jim can see her at least in passing, and know for certain she’s safe.

Or maybe not as safe as he thought. Jim pushes away that resurge of anger before it spoils his peacemaking.

Nomura is watching him like a particularly wary cat; not overtly displeased, but not entirely happy. Jim thinks it’s in part that she just. Doesn’t know what to do with a sincere overture of care for her wellbeing.

Jim smiles gentle as he can at her, moving slowly to close the last few feet between them. “And you didn’t shove me off this ledge yet, either, so… I think that’s proof enough. That you don’t really think I couldn’t be your friend.”

The words, to anyone else probably, would sound like a joke. But given what Jim knows of Nomura, what he’s seen her act like with other people… letting him get this close and not even attempting to lash out a second time is a big thing for their relationship. She’ll understand what he means.

Jim trusts Nomura. Against whatever anyone else might say, he trusts her with his life and the lives of his family. He wants her to trust him the same way, and maybe, just maybe… she already does.

(He’s sitting right next to her, now, and her claws aren’t even twitching. Whatever vitriol she dishes out from this point on, the key to knowing how she really feels will be in her actions, not her words.)

Nomura ducks her head, averting her eyes finally and letting the curtain of her black hair obscure her face. She sighs deeply, weary and amused.

“Soft, yet relentless,” she says under her breath. Nomura shakes her head, hair shifting in smooth swathes. “I despise that.”

Jim grins wryly. The fondness of Nomura’s tone speaks volumes of her truly intended words. “Do you despise it enough to refuse an offer of medical assistance?”

Nomura’s words sound like what an eye roll looks like. “I sense I’d have no choice, else you’d hound me until I agreed.”

Jim hums, knowing he’s won. “I won’t confirm that, but I won’t deny it either.”

“Cheeky. Don’t try your luck, Trollhunter; I could still shove you off the ledge.”

“And then you’d have to deal with a whole _new_ cheeky Trollhunter, and I doubt anyone would be as nice as I’ve been.”

“I suppose no one could possibly be as annoyingly _human_ as you’ve been, little Gynt.” (Funny Nomura say that, seeing as Jim hasn’t been human in over a month.) “Fates help me if I had to train _another_ of you to be less than disappointing in a fight.”

Jim just huffs, smiles, and resists the impulse to bump shoulders with the grumpy changeling. He’s a little reckless sometimes, yes, but not to the point of complete stupidity. He sees the line here, and he’ll refrain from crossing it.

(Almost unrecognized, Jim has a pang of loneliness, missing the casual contact he had with his family and friends back home…

He misses Toby a lot, actually. Almost (or maybe just as) much as he misses his mom.)

They sit for another short while, staring down at the market. It’s only after Nomura has tucked her hair back behind her long ears, exposing her face again, that Jim says, “So… you got up here alright; can you get down, too?”

The look he gets makes Jim laugh. No one but Nomura can quite say _You are the most idiotic and ignorant person I have ever met, be gone from my presence before I gut you,_ with such a brief and brutal glance.

Jim thinks his humor about Nomura’s attitude might have to do with something like Stockholm syndrome, maybe? End up in enough life or death situations with someone and you’re bound to get close.

The changeling is already hopping off the ledge before Jim has even finished that thought. He follows gamely, relieved that despite the hitch in her movements, Nomura could probably still hold her own in serious fight right now.

Jim still can’t quite shake thoughts like that, despite peace having been established. _Even if I’m tired tonight, I could still fight. Even if this space is a little small, I could still fight._ _Even if I hurt my arm lifting that beam,_ _I could still fight._ It’s like a mantra in the back of his head some nights, and some days when he’s waiting to fall asleep; replaying real and imagined battles in his mind. He can’t help but apply it to the people around him, too.

It’s draining, when he lets it go on too long. Better to find distraction in real life things, than to let his imagination continue to become darkened and grim like so.

Like his fellow rock-climbing companion. Nomura somehow makes climbing look graceful, even if it’s got an edge of creep factor. Something about how sudden and quick she can move, it triggers what lingering human instincts Jim has left; saying _No, no that’s weird, don’t like._

Jim figures out, about half down to the ground, that the rapid movement Nomura is capable of reminds him of spiders.

He knows with a certainty that if he ever voices that opinion aloud, she will kill him. Or at least give him a particularly brutal maiming.

 _Spider goat,_ Jim thinks as Nomura’s cloven feet and nimbleness carries her down. He almost giggles at the thought, but like he already said: voicing these thoughts aloud in any manner will definitely bring pain down on his head. Jim does not being in pain.

And besides. If Nomura attacked him right now, he’d feel really badly about fighting back. She’s _injured_. Jim can’t spar with someone who’s injured. Especially not one of his _friends._

(Nomura is so his friend. He’s not letting her weasel out of that, ever.)

Once they set down, they take the lesser used routes back to Jim’s cave. Jim, almost unconsciously, puts himself on Nomura’s injured flank; a defense against anyone who might target the weak spot. Which, now that they’re among the population again, Jim is hyperaware of. Even taking emptier passages through the winding market, they pass by trolls everywhere. And if Jim can smell the scent of blood on Nomura, then everyone else can, too.

It makes him uncomfortable, setting him on edge as they walk quickly and quietly. He’s tense after just a handful of minutes, and struggling to keep his lips out of a snarl close to the halfway point.

A troll they pass sniffs audibly, turning his whole body to follow the injured changeling walking by him. Jim sees the troll’s eyes narrow as he recognizes Nomura, his horns be tipped forwards and a frown tug at his lips. Teeth shown ever so subtly.

Nomura doesn’t show it, doesn’t make a sound- but Jim can _feel_ her shy away, cringing back in something uncomfortably close to fear.

_No._

_That’s not allowed to happen._

Jim feels the scruff on the back of his neck flair, and he snarls shortly in warning; loud and deep enough it rumbles in his chest afterwards. He tips his own horns forwards, flashing fangs; protective indignation swelling in him.

It doesn’t take more than a moment. The troll he’s staring down looks away with his ears pressing back; turning his head and body, signaling he’s dropped interest as requested.

Jim doesn’t even spare thought to find discomfort in his own actions. He just hurries Nomura along before they attract any more attention.

“ _Tsk,”_ Nomura scoffs under her breath, “I don’t need your defense.”

“Too bad,” Jim mutters back. “You’re getting it anyway.”

Nomura doesn’t say anything else the rest of the way, but she doesn’t shrug off the occasional steering hand Jim places on her shoulder.

They slip out of the general populace’s eyes finally, into the homey winding entrance of Jim and Blinky (and Claire’s) cave. Only a short staircase down and around a bend, and they’re inside; all that’s left is to weave through the still packed crates and boxes being stored here. Most of them contain ancient and mystical artifacts that belonged to Vendel, or a mix of Blinky’s old library and Old Trollmarket’s more delicate archives. For lack of better storage available, and because Blinky is a bit of a hoarder.

It’s a little crowded, which Nomura comments on succinctly by scoffing under her breath again, but over the course of his weeks living here… Jim finds the mild chaos comforting. Like the rest of Trollmarket and all the trolls living in it are somehow far away from the cave, despite being just outside. Here, it’s just him and his family.

It feels safe. Jim appreciates that more than he can put into words.

He relaxes the agitation he’d been feeling, leading Nomura into the more central room. Here they’ve put the dining table/work table. Blinky mostly eats out rather than cook at home, with Jim and Claire copying him, so it’s been generally used as study space even after the move.

At the table are Claire, and somewhat surprisingly, NotEnrique. Jim hasn’t seen much of the small changeling lately, but that might be his own fault for being so busy. Jim starts to grin at them as their heads turn, feeling even better for having not just Nomura in their home, but both his girlfriend and the changeling she’s all but adopted-

Then he stops cold, seeing the red on Claire’s arm, how she’s holding it out delicately, catching the undertone of salt and iron in the air on his tongue as he inhales-

A shock of fear and anger goes through Jim, and he’s across the space between them before he thinks about it. Jim hears himself make a short, wounded noise, hands hovering around Claire’s arm and unsure what to do.

“You’re _hurt,”_ Jim finds himself saying a second time in the same hour.

“It’s just a scratch,” Claire says, smiling tightly.

“A scratch the size a’ my _finger,”_ snaps NotEnrique, reaching to tug Claire’s arm back towards him and the reddened washcloth he’s got.

Jim snarls before he can stop himself, an arm wrapping around Claire’s waist and tilting his horns at NotEnrique. He feels strung tight, all the anxious anger over Nomura’s injury flooding back in to join his latest emotions.

 _Two of them. Two of his people,_ hurt. It’s set off a buzzing rush of concern run through with fear. He’s supposed to keep everyone _safe,_ that’s his _job,_ and he’s somehow _failed that._

“Jim, chill out,” Claire says, and her gentle voice is steady, calm. The injury isn’t even bad enough she’s faking it. Jim feels shaky anyway.

Her uninjured hand is closed loosely around Jim’s wrist, not pulling his arm off of her, but not exactly an invitation for him to keep holding onto her. In front of them, NotEnrique is bristling slowly; scruff slightly raised, eyes narrowed.

Jim is interfering with Claire getting treatment. He is also acting like a complete idiot.

He closes his eyes and drops his forehead lightly on top of Claire’s soft hair. Breathes in, breathes out.

“Sorry,” he says in a hush, ignoring the tangling, jangling mess of panic of worry in himself. All wrapped up in a fun, once again rising instinct of protectiveness. It’s twice as overwhelming as it’d been when it was just Nomura that was hurt.

“It’s okay,” Claire comforts, squeezing his wrist. “It was a bit of a shock to me, too. But I need you to get off me so we can finish, alright?”

Jim is really, really opposed to separating from Claire right now.

He does anyway. Because she asked, and because he’s feeling tempted to just scoop her up and curl around her. Be a living shield between her and whatever did this. Which is ridiculous.

NotEnrique is still giving Jim a hard look, even as he steps away. Jim feels weirdly indignant towards the changeling.

“You say you’re my friend, and yet it only took a second for you to forget about me,” Nomura comments dryly.

“ _Ah,”_ Jim strangles out, while Claire and NotEnrique both look towards her. “I- well. Uh.”

Nomura rolls her eyes at him. “Excuses aren’t needed, Trollhunter. I understand why.”

“Oh,” Claire says, obviously spotting how Nomura is holding her side, “you’re hurt, too? Is it deep, or-”

“It’s barely a flesh wound,” Nomura says, carefully pulling her blades from her back and leaning them against a stack of crates; coming to take a seat at the table. She visibly doesn’t wince as she sits down.  Jim finally stops just hovering uselessly and goes for the medical kit Claire and NotEnrique get out.

“‘It’s just a flesh wound’,” Claire says, a quiet laugh following, and Jim nearly groans. Both the changelings give them odd looks.

“…Like I said,” Nomura says slowly, “it’s just a flesh wound. I only need to clean it and I’ll be fine.”

“At least bandage it, please,” Jim says, handing her unopened sterile wipes. He sees the tear of Nomura’s dress, and adds, “And, uh. You’ll probably have to do it yourself… since you’ll need to. You know.”

Nomura gives him the world’s flattest look. Jim averts his eyes, ears pressed back. At least his blood doesn’t show under stone skin.

“You’re the one who slew Gunmar,” Nomura says despairingly, “and yet you’re such a child that you can’t even say aloud that I’ll have to undress. As though that behemoth Blinkous keeps isn’t naked constantly.”

“Don’t feel bad, he couldn’t even ask me out to a school dance,” Claire says.

 _“Hey.”_ Jim feels wounded. Talking to girls is hard, alright? It’s hard and neither of the girls in this room is sympathetic.

NotEnrique has no problem laughing at Jim. The laughter and the fact that it’s the changeling cleaning Claire’s injury, and not _Jim,_ bothers him more by the minute.

“So how’d ya end up lettin’ someone get you like that?” NotEnrique asks, addressing Nomura. “Thought you were the baddest bitch around. Unlike Claire ‘ere, who don’t _look_ before she leaps.”

“You misjudge one jump from a roof, and you never live it down,” Claire mutters.

“ _You jumped off a roof?”_ Jim exclaims, a tad shrill.

“It wasn’t even a high roof. And I was ninety percent sure that boulder wasn’t slippery.”

Jim almost keens. “I was gone for like an _hour,_ oh my _god.”_

“Oh so _you_ can jump around off roofs, but I can’t?”

“ _Yes,_ because I’m part troll and I wouldn’t break bones if I fell!”

“You didn’t have a problem with it a few weeks ago.”

“You had a magical, semi-cursed shadow staff back then. And now you don’t. Ergo, _don’t jump off roofs._ ”

Claire gives him a flat look. He’s getting a lot of those from his female friends tonight. Also, Jim is not backing down on this topic, so he doesn’t glance away, much as he wants to.

While they’ve been bickering and having a somewhat serious stare down, NotEnrique and Nomura have been exchanging oddly quiet conversation. Jim tunes back into it just as Nomura says, “I’ll go back later, see if they left anything intact.”

“Wait, what?” Jim asks, dropping his and Claire’s argument for the moment. She also drops it, hard stare moving from Jim to Nomura.

“What happened, Nomura?” Claire asks.

It’s the smaller changeling who answers. “The neighbors decided they wanted to make a vacancy,” NotEnrique says flippantly, finishing his work of drying off Claire’s arm for bandaging. “Doubt there’ll be much a’ anything left for you, Nomura. Folks prefer a clean slate, in my experience.”

Claire nearly gasps. “They kicked you out of your own home? But- they can’t do that, right, Jim?”

“No, they can’t,” Jim confirms, clenching his fists. “You didn’t say that’s what happened when I asked, Nomura. You just said it was a fight, not a full on _attack.”_

“What difference does it make?” Nomura says, hostile and defensive.

“A _big difference_. It was already bad, but this is-”

“Still none of your business! I won’t accept charity, Trollhunter.”

“You’re already in my home, using our medical kit; you might as well let me help you more!”

“I don’t _need help.”_

“Now see,” NotEnrique comments gleefully, “this is probably why they kicked ‘er out! Prickly neighbors with knives behind their backs never get invited to cookouts or anything.”

 _“Silence!”_ Nomura snaps, rising to loom over NotEnrique on the table. The smaller changeling sidesteps towards Claire, aiming a sharply smug look at Nomura as Claire puts her uninjured arm around him.

“Who’d ya snap at to set it off, huh? Betcha it was some bruiser,” NotEnrique continues, despite Nomura hissing at him. “You got a _type_ , lady. And really, it was a real stupid move tryin’ a’ settle down at all.”

“And roam between caves and beds, like _you?”_ Nomura sneers. “Excuse me if I’ve got better standards than being someone’s easy mark _clown_.”

“Like someone would want a frigid bitch like you, it’d be like tryin’ a’ cuddle a fuckin’ _stalkling_ -”

“ _Enough!_ Both of you! _”_ Jim says, louder than both of the quarrelers and reaching out to push them apart. Nomura and Notenrique both simultaneously slap his hands away.

Well. At least they agree on how to treat someone just trying to keep the peace.

Still, Nomura sits back into her chair, and NotEnrique sits back against Claire’s hold. Both of them look disgruntled, but not actively antagonistic anymore. If anything, they’re sulking.

This has been a lot in just a short while. Jim feels tired despite it only being halfway through the night.

“Okay, let’s all calm down,” Claire says, backing Jim up. “NotEnrique, help me finish with _my_ injury, and then I’ll help Nomura with hers. Everyone will probably feel better once we do that and get some tea- which you and Jim can take care of. Sound good?”

“Sure, fine,” NotEnrique agrees brusquely, turning his head and rubbing his cheek against Claire’s shoulder. Jim’s twitches an ear, lips tugging downwards.

Nomura sighs like the prospect of being assisted with her wound is a burden. Honestly, every time Jim peels back a layer of the changeling’s defensive shell, another seems to be another waiting. It’s more than a little frustrating…

…except he’s beginning to really understand _why_ Nomura is like that. From what they’ve managed to draw out of her, the events that occurred between Nomura and her neighbors sound like a completely unprovoked attack. Just out of the blue, whichever trolls she’s been living near turned on her- to the point of inflicting injury, at that.

Jim knew changelings weren’t popular with trolls, but… he’d always brushed off most of what was thrown their way due to circumstances. The only times he’d seen it were involved with the changelings in question having committed some kind of crime, so he’d thought it was justified.

This wasn’t justified at all. Jim has a feeling he and Blinky will need to have a serious talk about how to proceed with rectifying it. (And, Jim will have to keep reminding himself that marching out of the cave and finding the culprits _himself_ won’t really help anything. Unfortunately, not every problem can be solved with a well-aimed slash of Daylight’s sharp edge.

A pity. Jim’s gotten really good at using that solution to his life problems.)

NotEnrique finishes helping Claire with her injury in short order. Much as Jim itches to do it himself (she’s his girlfriend, he knew her first, she’s hurt and it’s hurting _him_ and he wants to _help_ ), he goes to start a pot of tea instead. He listens to the subdued conversation that starts back up, absent of the barbs and slights of the first one. NotEnrique and Nomura hardly even posture at each other this time.

By the time Jim has gotten the pot filled and in place with the fireplace lit, nudging the logs into position without much fear of burning himself, Claire has her shallow gash fully bandaged and she’s coaxing Nomura to head into the back. Where they can use Claire’s room, have some privacy.

Before she goes, NotEnrique tugs Claire back close to the table, saying something low and quiet. Jim doesn’t catch it properly, but the two of them hug after Claire whispers her reply.

It goes on for a long moment. Enough time that Jim finds himself drifting closer, watching, waiting… until they come apart again and he can have a turn at Claire’s attention.

Claire lets him catch her hands as she turns, pausing before she follows Nomura. Jim’s large fingers surround hers, clasping gently, and he pulls her near so they’re toe to toe.

Looking at her warm brown eyes and the nearly invisible freckles across the bridge of her nose, Jim suddenly gets a little dry mouthed; not entirely sure what he’d wanted to say. He just. Needs to be close to her. To reassure himself, somehow.

About what, though?

“You’re sure it’s not bad?” Jim asks belatedly, picking what would an obvious and normal question to ask at this time. “No other injuries to report? My mom _is_ a doctor, you know. I’ve picked up a good amount of first aid training over the years.”

Claire smiles at him, shaking her head so her shoulder length hair shifts, bangs almost falling into her eyes. “Nope, none. It probably won’t even scar badly. NotEnrique gave me a pretty thorough onceover, too, just so you know. He would’ve found it if I’d bumped something else.”

“Is that right?” Jim says, glancing briefly at the changeling. NotEnrique picks at the inside of his ear, pretending badly to not be listening in. Jim feels rankled at the small troll’s presence, for whatever reason.

“I’m glad,” Jim continues, ducking his head and meeting Claire at the halfway point. He’s over seven feet tall now; it takes a bit of bending to be eye to eye with her.

Though that’s not what they’re aiming to do right now, instead taking the moment to have a chaste kiss. Jim minds his fangs and enjoys the warmth of Claire’s lips. He also doesn’t think about how cold his probably are.

The sweetness of the kiss is ruined by NotEnrique making a poorly hidden sound of disgust.

Jim sighs, and breaks the kiss. He instead rests his forehead against Claire’s, breathing in her scent slowly and finding… that this feels just as good, just as calming and right. It’s hurting his neck a little to keep this angle, but Jim would happily let a cramp form there as long as he and Claire could stay like this the rest of the night. Or maybe… even a little closer…

Except Claire’s scent is mixed with someone else’s, and it ruins this moment, too.

“Gotta go,” Claire says softly, tilting her head and pecking his chin. “Have that tea ready when we’re done.”

And then she’s gone, taking with her the comforting lull of her personal scent, as well as the irrationally aggravating one that’s _clouding it._ Claire usually only ever smells like herself, or sweat, or soap and sometimes (Blinky, a little, Jim, mostly, and that’s- _important,_ but also- weird, and) like dust, from working hard to rebuild the market. There’s another one however layering all that, even over the lingering blood, and it’s- not supposed to be there. It’s fresh, all over vulnerable, easily injured spots- on her _wound_ , the most delicate part of Claire now, and Jim-

He smells the source, right there, nearby, and Jim can’t help the twist of his lips as he flashes teeth and growls low and heavy.

NotEnrique growls right back, scruff standing on end and his sharp little claws digging into the wood of the table.

“ _Piss off,”_ the changeling hisses. “You don’t got exclusive rights, she’s-”

“ _My girlfriend,”_ Jim snaps, advancing towards the much, much smaller troll. NotEnrique doesn’t flinch, rising to the challenge even as Jim’s shadow falls over him, enveloping him completely.

“An’ she’s _my sister,”_ NotEnrique snarls back. “She claimed me an’ I claimed her, she’s _my_ _kin._ _Mine._ You don’t have rights over me; _kin tromps partners, so fuck off.”_

Jim’s palms hit the table with a bang, and he snarls right in the changeling’s face. NotEnrique barks a sound that’s half yowl, half shout; quivering with tension as he does.

“I ain’t ever had someone like Claire before,” NotEnrique grinds out, “so like _hell_ am I lettin’ some whelp chase me off. You might’a taken out Gunmar an’ Angor an’ whoever the fuck else, but she’s _my kin,_ and I’ll fight ya ‘til I’m _dust_ before I let you keep me from her.”

Jim begins another wordless sound of anger, the emotion bubbling up from deep within him, sparking and furious and- and-

And completely out of character for him, and uncalled for, and almost a little _scary…_

All of the swelling emotions in Jim suddenly deflate; his brain catching up with his actions and reeling at them. He’s trying to pick a fight with someone who’s not just his friend, but Claire’s adopted _brother,_ and that just doesn’t make any sense.

What makes even less sense is why he’d want to pick a fight at all.

Jim sinks slowly, ears unhappily pressed to the sides of his skull and regret welling in him. “You’re right, sorry,” he says faintly, genuinely horrified with himself. He kneels on the stone floor, hands still gripping the table’s edge for support as he experiences a wave of dizziness. Jim can feel NotEnrique’s eyes, peering over the lip of the table and staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jim mumbles again. He presses his forehead against the table’s edge, ashamed of his behavior. “I. I don’t know what that was about. I’m really sorry.”

He doesn’t pick fights unless there’s a _reason,_ there’s _always_ a reason. That- that was out of his control completely, like someone yanked the reins of his body from him. He’d just- been so _worried_ about Claire, and Nomura before that, and like with the random, completely innocent bystander he’d wordlessly threatened on the way here- Jim just couldn’t help himself. And that’s scaring him a lot right now.

“…Don’t sweat it, kid. You shoulda seen what I did to some lady’s hand tonight.”

Jim raises his head, looking questioningly. NotEnrique shrugs. “She was tryin’ a’ touch Claire, after our girl took a fall. Probably just wanted ta help, but… you know. Shit just sets ya off under the circumstances.”

“…What?” Jim is even more confused, if a tad less panicky.

“What do you mean _what?_ Claire’s hurt, you picked up people ‘sides you had been touchin’ her, you flipped. Duh.”

Jim stares at NotEnrique. That. Makes a lot of sense. It puts into words all the nameless feelings that’ve been twisting inside him this whole time.

NotEnrique is staring back at Jim like he’s stupid. “Jeez, kid. You don’t know anything about _anything,_ do ya?”

Jim frowns. “My life hasn’t exactly come with a manual…”

“So improvise.”

“What do you _think_ I’ve been doing?”

“Improvise _better.”_

Jim occasionally forgets why NotEnrique can be so frustrating. He remembers very clearly _now_ , given that the changeling is still giving him an _Are you stupid or what_ look, but… then again, he’s not panicking anymore.

“…I was trying to apologize,” Jim says, mostly to himself. “It’s polite.”

“The attempt is appreciated,” NotEnrique answers, “but you could build on it a bit more.”

Jim shoots him a _look_ , heated by the still insistent instincts in the back of his mind. NotEnrique raises his hands and rolls his eyes. “Or you could just leave it at that, sure. Just don’t go tryin’ a’ chase me off from my own freakin’ family again, got it? Otherwise… we’re gonna have a problem, me an’ you.”

Jim opens his mouth to say- something, probably overly defensive, because parts of him still feel like live wires- but then just sighs, sitting down fully on the floor and rubbing his face.

“I didn’t even mean to do it the first time,” he says, prickling shame returning. He draws his legs close to himself, wrapping his arms around his knees. He wants, more than anything right now, to be sitting on the linoleum of his dining room back home, instead of the cold rock he is.

He wants to be home with his _mom,_ getting a comforting hug from her, asking her to help him make sense of everything that’s happened the past months, but- god, he doesn’t even want to think about her ever seeing him act like he just did. At least with NotEnrique, as uncalled as it had been for Jim to start this at all… the changeling isn’t judging him for the abnormal behavior.

For the most part. The judging is for reasons other than the ones Jim is petrified of exposing to his human friends and family.

It’s somehow still not making this much easier to digest and deal with.

“Hey, kid.”

Jim looks up from his staring contest with his knees. NotEnrique is hanging off the table, right in front of Jim’s face. More than uncomfortably close.

“You’re actin’ like I ate your puppy or somethin’,” NotEnrique says, poking Jim’s forehead. “C’mon, sullen ain’t a good look for you. Claire’ll yell at me if she comes back an’ I’ve let ya get all droopy.”

“What do you care?” Jim asks, not open to being literally poked at right now.

“I’ll reiterate for ya: Claire, yellin’ at me. Don’t want that ta happen.” NotEnrique scratches the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. “And. You know. I didn’t think _I’d_ yelled at ya enough to make you actually get upset. Ain’tchu supposed to be the big bad Trollhunter? You’re not usually this…”

NotEnrique gestures vaguely at him, nearly clipping Jim’s pant leg as he does. Jim sighs.

“It’s… not your fault. It’s… it’s me. What I did, I mean.” Jim’s digs his fingers into his skin, resisting the urge to curl up even further. “That was… totally out of my control. I didn’t- I didn’t even think before I did it, and then I didn’t notice what was happening until after, and that’s…”

 _That’s not me_ , he wants to say. _That’s not who I am._ Except… he’s not even sure of that anymore.

 _\--Part of you will never be the same._ Right. Merlin _did_ warn him, but as usual… Jim has been blindsided by just what that warning was for.

NotEnrique looks as uncomfortable as Jim has ever seen him, and given the array of situations they’ve been mutually involved in, that’s saying something.

“Right,” NotEnrique says, shortly and something close to roughly kind, “that’s sucky, kid. But it happened an’ it’s over, an’ we both even avoided going for the eyes.”

The changeling gives Jim’s head a firm, awkward pat, and lets go of the table. Jim watches NotEnrique head for the now boiling pot of water, waiting for more and not receiving anything.

“That’s it?” Jim asks before he can stop himself. “That’s you comforting me after- all that?”

“The hell do you think I’m supposed to do?” NotEnrique snaps, but it’s somehow in a tone that’s neutral. Just his default setting, like Nomura’s is suspicion. “I ain’t your partner, or your parent- I’m just the in-law. Not my job to ‘comfort you’; my job is to give ya the evil eye every time you get overly personal with my sister, capiche?”

NotEnrique is climbing the shelf next to the fireplace, coming close to dislodging jars and bottles- all of which made of _glass-_ presumably filled with all sorts of dangerous ingredients for potions and troll cooking. (The two can be hard to tell apart, honestly.)

Jim would like to keep wallowing in his pity party (give a guy at least five minutes after a discovery like _that_ about himself, alright?), but NotEnrique is grabbing tins of precious tea leaves and sugars willy-nilly and is obviously intent on tossing the whole of them into the pot. Jim has spent the past few weeks taking sparse moments of joyful normality, including enjoying tea, which thankfully tastes about the same as it did when he was human. Those containers in NotEnrique’s claws are all special requests (or thoughtful gifts) from Claire’s shopping trips.

Jim sighs, stands and dusts himself off, and metaphorically puts his drama on the shelf for later as he goes to yank NotEnrique off a physical one.

“You could be nicer to me,” Jim mutters afterwards, pouring the hot water into an actual _teapot_ , and not just dumping a bunch of teabags into the real life cauldron. Because only someone who has no appreciation or respect for steeping the leaves until they’re _just right_ would do that. (NotEnrique, Toby, sadly, Claire, even more sadly, _Blinky,_ Jim expected better of his mentor and father figure… and his _mom,_ his mom is addicted to coffee completely and utterly, with no patience for savoring of good tea. Arrrgh just eats the whole canister and teapot before they’ve even boiled the water, and Draal…

Jim isn’t thinking about Draal.)

“I’m a damaged teenager,” Jim continues belligerently, smacking NotEnrique’s hands away from the tins of tea, “I need care and support and people to _respect boundaries._ ”

“An’ I need a _snack,_ I’m _hungry._ ”

“They’re in use. You can _wait_ , just like I am, for them to be _empty_. I’m pretty sure it’s uncivil to eat your tea canisters before they’re used up.”

“You weren’t too concerned about bein’ _civil_ a few minutes ago…”

Jim fully intends his warning growl this time. His instincts are still struggling to pick a balance between severe annoyance and amiable tolerance regarding NotEnrique. This is, thankfully, the moment when Claire and Nomura return. Jim’s mood improves by a whole lot, seeing them both and barely smelling any lingering blood.

Nomura takes a sniff of the air as they come back into the room, and her eyebrows go up; eyes going to the large, durable teapot Jim has.

“Is that…?” She sniffs again, coming closer. “Fruit blend with almond?”

Jim perks up, smiling. “Yeah! It’s mainly mixed with orange, but there’s other undertones of fruit besides citrus. I thought we could use something that picks us up, since it’s not even all that late yet.”

Nomura nods. “I tend towards green above all else, but I’ll agree with your choice for tonight. It… smells lovely.”

Jim can’t believe his ears, and his hearing has gotten much better lately. “Actually, I’ve got some green tea. I kind of like pairing it with pomegranate sometimes, but not so much it overpowers the original flavor…”

Nomura actually quirks her lips in an approving smile. “Coincidentally, so do I. Have you ever tried cranberry, though?”

Jim grins outright, feeling delighted. Nomura is looking at him with something akin to respect. _Finally_ , someone who _understands._

“Oh joy,” Notenrique says from his position beside Claire, “now there’s _two_ tea freaks.”

Claire has the nerve to snicker. Jim forgives her, because she is so amazing and wonderful that her taste in humor can be excused, but Notenrique is not forgiven. Notenrique’s opinion about good tea is invalid. Claire’s opinion is also invalid, but in a nicer way than Jim is invalidating her troll-brother’s.

Nomura likes tea, it turns out. She has an appreciation for more finicky dishes and drinks, some of which Jim hasn’t tried making or even tasted before; all of which special indulgence after a mission well done. Sitting at the dining table, trading western versus eastern cuisine at gourmet level, Nomura finally loses the edging tension she’d been carrying since Jim found her on that outcropping.

He thinks she looks actually quite nice when she smiles. A _real_ smile, curling her lips behind the rim of her cup, which fails to hide it completely; not a smile that’s threat _or_ defense. Just… relaxed. Happy.

Jim hopes he can get her to smile like that more often, and not lose it so quickly- disappointed as the easy calm disappears immediately as Blinky shuffles his way into the cave.

From that point, Nomura snaps right back into prickliness, because Jim puts forward the idea of her staying with them until she can get a new place for herself.

Predictably, everyone has a lot to say about the idea. Not all of it is agreeable. Most of it is fairly loud. Jim doesn’t even want to think about how chaotic this would be if Toby and Arrrgh were also present. (He wants them here so badly it’s hurts sharp and hot in his chest; splintering in all directions and burrowing into his heart as he notes their gaping absences in the conversation.)

It takes a lot of convincing, but eventually, as Jim manages to get Nomura to meet his eyes as he talks, and he sees the exact moment her resolve crumbles.

“ _Fine,”_ Nomura grinds out, arms crossed tightly over her chest and expression the far opposite of pleased. “I’ll stay for one day. If only so you’ll stop _nagging.”_

“I’m not nagging,” Jim protests lightly. “I’m just concerned for your health and well-being. As your friend.”

Nomura is kind of funny, given her allergy to sincere kindness. Her expression gets pinched whenever Jim says the word _friend_ , or anything close to _I’m concerned about you_. It’s funny, and sad.

“And, if you would allow it,” Blinky says, carefully diplomatic, “I’d like to speak with you further about… the incident, which drove you to our step.”

“I wasn’t _driven_ to your step, Blinkous. Your youngling _dragged me_ to it.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Nomura… please,” Blinky tries again, and there’s the look Jim has gotten used to seeing on his face. The expression and posture of a leader, trying his absolute best to take care of everyone around him. “I realize this has been a trying night for you, but… it will make it vastly easier to fix things if you give your side of the story in full.”

NotEnrique snorts loudly, the same time as Nomura huffs dismissively.

“Yeah, an’ everyone’ll _love_ a good changeling sob story,” NotEnrique says derisively. Even Claire reaching out to put a hand on his back doesn’t calm the agitation in him; displayed clearly by his curled lip and glare. “You know as well as us that people will just think she’s makin’ it up. Causing fuss over her losin’ her cave will just make trolls ‘round here angry.”

“For once, I agree with you,” Nomura says, tone the same as the smaller changeling’s. She tilts her head, staring at Blinky with condescension and distrust. “It would be my word against the culprits’, and if I want any hope of living even remotely undisturbed in my next cave, then I’ll refrain making this a public scandal. Better you let me handle this on my own.”

“And what about the next time, huh?” Jim demands, bristling with anger on Nomura’s behalf. “What about the _next time_ someone tries to mess with you? If we don’t stop it now, then it’ll _keep happening,_ and then-”

“And then I’ll _deal with it again,”_ Nomura says sharply, shutting him down. Her eyes narrow dangerously, even as Jim meets her gaze. “You don’t understand, Trollhunter. None of you do. If I want to keep finding work, if I want to even keep _living_ by the glow the Heartstone, then I _will not make myself a target._ Waging a war over one small battle will do nothing but cause us all grief, I promise you that.”

“I’d protect you,” Jim says firmly, swearing it to himself, to _everyone_ in the room. “I’d- I’d talk to them, and tell them they _can’t_ do this stuff to you, and-”

“And what? Expect it to all work out nicely?” Nomura lets out a nasty laugh. “You live a _fantasy_ , little Gynt. You can’t erase _thousands of years_ of prejudice with a few words. I’d much sooner find myself driven out of Trollmarket for even trying!”

“That _wouldn’t happen.”_

“And how could you guarantee that? How can you promise I wouldn’t be pushed out into the daylight to _die?_ ”

“Because I wouldn’t _LET THEM!”_

Jim’s voice echoes off the walls of the cave, ringing back in his ears too loudly. His heart is racing for some reason, thudding in his chest in time with the pulsing emotions there.

He wouldn’t let that happen. He’s supposed to protect his friends. That’s his job, that’s why he’s _here,_ that’s why he’s _like this_ , why he made the choices he did, why he gave up his home and life and only remaining blood family, to _protect them all._

He’d never, _ever_ let the market drive Nomura out like that.

Blinky’s hand carefully touches Jim’s lower back. Jim didn’t even notice he’d stood up, palms flat on the table.

He’s got his lips twisted in a snarl. It takes effort to smooth the expression again.

Claire is staring. NotEnrique is staring. Nomura is clenching her fingers around her cup and looking up at Jim with an expression like steel and ice.

“Do _not,”_ Nomura says in a low, slow voice, “ _yell_ at me, Trollhunter.”

“Master Jim,” Blinky says gently, giving a light push against Jim’s stiff spine. “I think you’ve made your point. Sit down, please.”

Jim sits. He feels like he’d very much like the floor to swallow him up, now.

Blinky pats Jim’s shoulder, running his cool fingers across the cotton of Jim’s shirt. “Perhaps… we’ll revisit this matter at a later date. Tonight has already been more than eventful enough.”

“Let’s,” Nomura says icily, meaning they definitely won’t be, and stands from the table. Her words are clipped and cold. “I’ll be taking a walk, now, if you don’t mind. I’ll return later.”

“Of course, take your time.”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Jim repeats under his breath, just before Nomura leaves them. She stops, both of them facing away from each other now.

A long pause, and then she very stiffly replies, “I know.”

Nomura walks with quietly clicking steps from the cave, accompanied by the soft ring of her swords sliding into place on her back. The urge to follow her or bring her _back_ twists inside Jim, but he doesn’t budge from his seat, stayed partially by Blinky’s hand still laid on him.

He’s crossed the line with her, even though he knew where it was.

It hurts, like a lot of things do these days.

“I’ll, uh, check in later,” NotEnrique says in a mumble, mostly to Claire. He lets his adopted sibling hug him briefly, before he hops onto the floor and disappears among the stacks of possessions; presumably out the door with uncharacteristic silence to his exit.

And so, Jim is left with only two other people in the room, and a large part of him doesn’t want them here at all right now.

He wants to curl up in the dark of his room, which isn’t nearly as dark as he wants it to be, his eyes seeing straight through the shadows and exposing _everything-_ including the missing digits of his hands, the way his bones and limbs shift and rotate _differently_ … the way _Jim_ is different.

Jim wants to hide; from himself, from the painfully tight emotions in his chest, and from the eyes of his family on him.

“Jim…” Claire starts, standing slowly from her chair. She rounds the table in five steps, circling its troll-sized bulk, and comes to stand at his shoulder. Jim wants to flinch away from her, if only because he’s feeling sick of his own presence.

The hands on his shoulders are grounding, though; Claire’s hot and human, Blinky’s cold and troll. Not trapping him, but… a request, that he come back to them fully.

There was a reason Jim went climbing, earlier. Tonight his skull has felt too full, his every step off-balance. He wanted to have space to himself until he could get that under control, but then he’d met Nomura, and everything spiralled from there.

He’s expecting reprimand, from both or either of the people next to him. Or worse, _questions_ , asking him to explain himself, when sincerely and certainly Jim just _can’t._

Instead, Claire says kindly, with a wry smile curling her lips, “Rough night?”

Jim’s shoulders slump under the weight of hers and Blinky’s palms; relief blooming in him that they’re not calling out his poor behavior. “A little, yeah. I was… going for a run, when I found Nomura.”

Blinky makes an _Ah_ sound. “And so you never finished your private outing, did you, master Jim?” When Jim shakes his head, Blinky nods. “This has been a fair amount of stress in a short period of time; I am not surprised that the disruption of your run negatively affected your ability to handle the situation.”

That’s more words than Jim would use, but sure, sounds about right.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Claire offers. “Or…?”

Talk about it? “No thanks,” Jim replies, carefully boxing up all the distress he’d caused himself and putting it away again. He manages a smile for his girlfriend. “I’d honestly just… like to finish the run, and then find something to do for a while.”

“Are you quite sure?” Blinky questions, squeezing Jim’s shoulder. “I had thought to go start searching for information of the fiends who attacked Nomura, once I finished another task, but I have more than a moment to speak about whatever might be bothering you, Jim.”

“We’re _not_ letting them get away?” Jim asks, surprised. Blinky nods, crossing his second set of arms and frowning deeply.

“I think _not._ Contrary though it might be to Nomura’s wishes, I won’t tolerate these sorts of transgressions in Trollmarket. I won’t bring her into things again until I’ve got names and accounts of what happened, but rest assured, master Jim, I will not let this go on ignored. It wouldn’t do at all to alienate one of our strongest fighters, let alone someone you’ve befriended.”

A huge pressure lifts itself from Jim’s chest; he should have known Blinky wouldn’t let this happen to Nomura, not without them returning fire.

“You’re _absolutely_ sure you don’t want to talk?” Claire asks again, pleading Jim with her eyes to open up, to explain what’s bothering him… and much as he trusts those eyes with his life, he just.

He just can’t put this on her, or Blinky, either. Jim’s grossly tangled emotions and instincts are his own the deal with; Claire has been _amazing_ just for being here, dealing with her own traumatic events so cleanly and neatly, and Blinky has the entire market to worry after. They shouldn’t have to deal with Jim’s drama on top of all that.

“I’d rather just get that run in, thanks,” Jim says, reaching up to Claire’s hand and closing his around it. “I think I just got cranky ‘cause I missed it, you know?”

Claire’s concerned expression says she doesn’t believe the excuse. Jim barely believes it himself.

Still, he convinces them to just pat his shoulders and hug him one last time, and let him go. A short conversation about Blinky updating Jim on anything turned up about Nomura’s attackers, and an additional, slightly longer conversation with Claire about _not jumping off roofs,_ and Jim puts the teapot and cups by the basin and water rations for cleaning later, heading out of the cave to get his run.

He catches the faint lingering of Nomura’s scent as he does, knows he could follow it in the direction she went- but doesn’t, purposefully going a direction opposite of hers.

The act of leaving Claire behind in the cave (for rest and relaxing, and something akin to _grounding_ for stupid stunts) is only bearable thanks to Blinky’s presence nearby hers. He’s going to be around another hour at least, sorting through books needed for the families setting up the agriculture around the market. It’ll give Jim time to exert himself, slot his thoughts back into place, without worrying for Claire’s safety.

(He can feel himself worrying, anyway. He worries about everyone, honestly, whether he’s positive or not that they’re safe.)

The trolls Jim passes as he jogs feel a dozen too many, as the streets fill up with midnight shoppers and builders and general going-about-their-nights errand runners. At this point, he feels so claustrophobic he wants to go try climbing the walls of the cavern again; just to get _away_ from all these trolls.

Except that didn’t work properly the first time, and now… he’s craving contact, closeness, even if he just embarrassed himself horribly in front of every single one of his friends and family here. He does and doesn’t want to be near them right now.

But there’s still Toby. Toby, who didn’t see any of that, and won’t _hear_ about any of it in all likelihood, until Claire wanders up aboveground for a phone signal. Toby, who Jim cares a lot about, and misses fiercely, and will more than likely have a way to cheer him up.

And there’s possibility Toby is awake. It’s a weekend evening, Jim is fairly certain. Dates have been bleeding together for him, numbering them becoming a little pointless as his life’s duties became a Trollhunter’s fulltime.

Jim has his phone in his pocket, secure despite all his running and climbing thanks to a pair of cargo pants Claire brought back to him. They only hitch a little above his ankles, and while he needs a belt to hold them up, since anything in his size comes too large in the waist, they hold his phone and the amulet, and that’s all he really needs them to do.

Yeah. Talking to Toby sounds honestly great right now. Maybe Arrrgh, too. Just hearing their voices should help Jim shut down the lingering sensations of spiralling emotions and instincts.

To escape the choking sensation of crowds and his own failings at behaving _normally_ , Jim darts quick as he can to the main entrance and exit of the market, and races towards the surface and its endless night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this actually swapped endings at the last minute, and now y'all are getting toby sooner than i planned, and the comfort part of the hurt/comfort is delayed further. instead its time to check in on what things are like for our loneliest member of the trio.....


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…It’s rare for someone to pay an apology to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all, we're back in business.
> 
> once again cut the chapter into pieces, as i decided toby deserves a chapter mostly to himself. things in this formerly brief arc should resolve fully come next installment. <3

“ _This is Toby,”_ answers the familiar voice on the line, distracted sounding.

“This is Jim,” Jim parrots back, smiling at the startled laughter his friend makes.

“ _Jimbo! What the heck, man, the one time I don’t check my caller ID and it_ is _you. What’s up, dude? Shouldn’t you be busy around this time of night?”_

“Shouldn’t _you_ be asleep this time of night?” Jim challenges in good humor.

“ _Jim. We both know even normal, not-Trollhunter teens don’t sleep this time of night. The only people I know who actually go to bed before now are straight A students who never turn in homework late.”_

“You know, there might be something to that.”

“ _Shut up, you don’t even go to school anymore. Let me have my one night of formerly uninterrupted video gaming.”_

Jim laughs, even if the reminder he can’t finish school stings faintly. “Is Arrrgh with you tonight?”

“ _Where else would he be?”_ Toby replies, and in the background a deep voice says, _“Hi, Jim!”_

Jim lets out a sigh, a small knot of tension in his stomach coming undone. He curls a little further inwards on himself, splayed comfortably on soft, cool grass; the way his body is laid out… isn’t a position any human would be comfortable in, but alone like this, he lets himself enjoy it.

Toby and Arrrgh are together, like he knew they’d be, but he feels reassured to know for certain. With the both of them watching each other’s backs, there’s a much smaller chance either will get hurt. Because while Jim believes in their individual strength, both of them capable fighters, he still… worries.

He’s not there to keep an eye out for danger (to them), and it bothers him like a sharply buzzing insect, some nights.

But Jim isn’t thinking about that right now. He came up here to calm down, not rile himself back up.

“ _So… this a social call, or did something go horrible wrong? Like it always does.”_

Something did sort of go horrible wrong, but not in the sense Toby is thinking. “Can’t I just call my best friend without something awful going on?” Jim asks teasingly, lying to Toby and himself about the whole reason he made this call.

“ _We’re disaster magnets, Jim. Something is always awful. Like the_ fact-” Toby cuts off for a moment, and the sound of him and Arrrgh cheering fills the phone line. Jim waits for them to be done celebrating whatever level they beat together, trying to ignore the ache of homesickness in his chest.

He misses them so much. He misses being the one playing video games every Saturday night with Toby. He misses home and he misses Toby.

(He misses his old life.)

“ _Sorry, we’ve been stuck on that one all evening,”_ Toby says, resuming the conversation. _“Anyway, like I was saying- something totally always goes wrong because we attract Murphy ’s Law like the plague. It’s not even because of you specifically, Jimbo, I mean we’re all just plain cursed to have something periodically awful happen to us every new week.”_

“You sound very passionate about this subject tonight, Tobes. What’s up with _you?”_

“ _I don’t know how I haven’t complained to you about this before, but where do you think all those goblins Gunmar had running around went?”_

“Uh...”

“ _Nowhere. They went nowhere and I’m the only one here cleaning up after them. I went from fighting in an interspecies war to being the goblin catcher, I swear to god.”_

Jim can’t help but laugh, because by his standards these days? Goblins are small fry. Toby makes a frustrated sound. “ _Twice this week I had to go exterminate a group! And_ last week _I had to get rid of three! I was in the middle of school or sleeping every time it happened and Jim, I think my attendance is gonna end up as bad as yours if it keeps up like this. When did ‘goblin exterminator’ become a Trollhunter duty anyway? There’s gotta be a pest control for them.”_

Jim is still laughing. Wow, is it ever nice to hear these kinds of complaints. Not that Toby being frustrated with goblins is a good thing, but it’s such an easy sounding problem Jim just. Laughs.

“ _Yeah, ha ha. Laugh at my pain. I have goblin slime on every pair of my sneakers and stain remover is doing nothing to get it out. I’m sending you my bill.”_

“Kind of need a mailing address for that, Tobes,” Jim wheezes.

“ _I’ll find a way, just watch me.”_ Jim is let to finish wheezing and laughing, before Toby continues with, “ _So. You feel like talking about whatever’s bothering you, now? Got all those stress knots laughed out?”_

Jim immediately sobers, going guiltily quiet.

“ _Jim,”_ Toby scolds.

“There’s nothing, really…”

His friend makes a disbelieving grunt. Jim does not yet give in to the disbelief.

“ _Jim… dude, how long we known each other?”_

“…Basically our whole lives,” Jim grudgingly answers.

“ _Right. So I can hear your mope clear across the country. Here, lemme just- excuse me, Arrrgh, I need get by. Sorry, wingman. I gotta take this in private._ ”

“ _Understand…”_ Arrrgh replies somewhere in Toby’s vicinity, sounding exactly that. Jim waits with trepidation and stares very, very hard at the blades of wild grass near his face. It’s thicker and taller than grass that’s tended to by humans, and it feels nice against his cheek as he absently rubs his face on it. Toby keeps being gone, only faint footsteps and bumps coming from the speaker- so Jim sets his cellphone on the grass and does a full body stretch. His fingers and toes flex as he extends his body, languidly contracting and loosening his muscles.

It feels _really_ nice, sort of just… rolling on the grass. Jim finds a comfy position soon after, and lies with his arms stretched out in front of him, legs sprawled out similarly. Briefly, all the stress of the night feels very far away, and there’s only the ambience of nighttime around him.

If he wanted to, he could probably pick out individual scents, maybe find their sources. There have definitely been animals through here, and the waft of fresh water is coming from the north somewhere, with an owl a few dozen feet to his left and the night wind sending a calming, tantalizing breeze over everything…

“ _Jim? Still there?”_ asks a faint voice.

Jim blinks out of the daze he put himself in, reaching for the phone and quickly bringing it to his ear. “I’m here, sorry. What is it?”

_“I’m walking around in the dark outside, away from everyone who’ll eavesdrop on us. For you, Jim. I’m waiting on you, here.”_

Right. This is exactly what he _didn’t_ want to happen.

_“Like, I know you have Claire and Blinky and maybe other people to do this with nowadays- but, Jim, you can still talk to me about whatever this is. I can’t do a ton from way over here, but… I’ll listen. You know that, right?”_

Jim does know. He just doesn’t want to put this on anyone, let alone Toby, or anyone else he’s close with.

“I… I know I can, Tobes. I just didn’t wanna talk about it with anyone.”

 _“I’m gonna pull a card my Nana always uses on me, and say what you don’t wanna talk about is usually what you should talk about the most._ ”

“Oof. You’re really not letting up with logic tonight. I can’t even deny that one.”

“ _Yeah, I couldn’t ever either, haha. And it’s my job anyway to be the common sense here, sometimes. Like you do it for me.”_

Jim’s gut still feel queasy about explaining the situation, but he manages a small smile anyway.

“That’s true. And, uh…” Jim struggles to strain out the worst details of his screw up without taking away the main issue. “I kind of yelled at Nomura. To her face.”

“ _Oh, wow. And you still have all your limbs attached?”_

“Surprisingly.”

“ _Huh. I guess she really doesn’t hate us all- or you, at least.”_

“I don’t… I don’t think she’s all that bad,” Jim defends mildly. Talking about Nomura is easier than talking about why he yelled at her, his anxiety lessening slightly. “I mean. You know all that ‘impure’ stuff trolls always throw around about changelings?”

“ _Yeah, ‘cause they’re part human. Why?”_

“Well… I think it’s a more serious term than we thought it was. Like, I think I knew on a level what it was supposed to mean, but up ‘til tonight I didn’t actually think too hard about it, and then I bumped into Nomura and- and she was actually _hurt…_ ”

Toby listens as Jim talks out the situation, about what Nomura had grudgingly confessed about trolls _hiding_ the attack on her from him, plus what little he’d overheard between their two resident changelings, and that Jim had just- gotten _angry_ , because it wasn’t fair, and she wasn’t letting him _help her_ , and he’d just… snapped.

Jim cuts out the uncontrollable feelings he’d been having all through those experiences. Those are still his own problem, no one else’s, and this’ll be enough to get Toby off his back.

His friend blows out a rough sigh. “ _That’s heavy. Jesus.”_

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“ _Like… fuck. Ugh. I think I’ve heard even_ Blinky _call them impures a couple times. Jim, I feel gross, this is really gross. I get why you’re all wound up, now.”_

Jim sighs heavily. “Yep. It’s been a very busy evening. Finding out most of your friends are really prejudice against the other ones is always fun.”

Toby makes a wordless noise of agreement, and it sounds stressed enough Jim can close his eyes and almost see Toby running a hand through his hair, a frown tugging at his mouth and worry in his eyes… it’s the expression he always makes, whenever he’s upset. It’s as familiar an expression as Toby’s smile is, to Jim.

Jim’s semblance of ease slips away, replaced by cold. He didn’t mean to do that to Toby. He didn’t want to talk about this at all, and now he’s gone and ruined Toby’s night, too.

“Sorry. I didn’t wanna talk about it, or interrupt your night or anything. It’s a lot to process.”

“ _What? No, Jim, it’s fine. I would’ve wanted to know this stuff anyway. You know, I think I called changelings impures a few times myself and now I feel like I licked copper.”_ Jim doesn’t really have a response to that, besides agreeable disgust, but doesn’t matter anyway, since Toby carries on with, _“So what’re you gonna do about things over there? There’s… not really much I can do over here for this kinda stuff. Strickler’s the only changeling left and Arrrgh and good old Dick are the only trolls around still, and they’re chill. Mostly. Dicky and Stricky bitch each other out when they think no one’s looking and it’s funny to watch, but that’s not related to this subject. I think they just hate each other regardless of messy race stuff.”_

“Dicky and Stricky??”

“ _I’m dying of boredom these days, Jimbo. Antagonising our former antagonizers is how I’m getting my kicks now. You should’ve seen the faces they made, oh my god.”_

Jim can in fact imagine the faces they made, and chokes a little on his laughter. “Can you get pictures next time?” he asks, grinning. Toby swears up and down that he’ll do his best, if he can avoid his phone being snapped in two by a pissed off changeling in the process.

There’s a pause after that, where Toby just keeps walking along whatever street he’s on, and Jim stares up at the dark canopy of the forest. The leaves rustle now and again, and Jim tries not to compare the forest’s scent to the one back home.

The flora and fauna smell different here. Different dominate plant species, different climate… different everything. What he wouldn’t give to be walking shoulder to shoulder with Toby back home, even if Jim’s shoulders match his new height. He could tolerate that particular difference in their lives, as long as he was with Toby.

But, he’s not. And for the foreseeable future, he won’t be for a long while.

(Jim very firmly doesn’t let the sharp tug of emotion in his chest overwhelm him. It’s fine, he’s fine. Really.)

Jim’s thoughts wander to Toby’s words a few steps back in their conversation. “Weird how you kinda… almost miss it?”

“ _Miss what? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, it is weird. Like everything else in our lives, but- it is especially weird, I think.”_

“I think nearly dying all the time made me an adrenaline junkie,” Jim says morosely, thinking of the kneejerk reaction to look for a fight he has to quell sometimes.

“ _You say this as though you are not the kid who climbed every tree he could when we were like, in kindergarten until middle school. I’d say something like, ‘hey why don’t we play in my backyard’, and you’d say, ‘no let’s climb this tree taller than my house’, and then you’d climb the tree and get stuck for a full half hour. Jim, you were always an adrenaline junkie. You just were really polite about it so no one called you out.”_

“Oh my god, shut up. I did not do all that.”

“ _I’ll bet your mom would back me up and say otherwise.”_

“Like _you_ weren’t also climbing the trees with me.”

“ _Only because you_ made me _, jerk.”_

They both laugh. Recalling childhood memories makes Jim feel simultaneously worse and better- mostly better, since Toby is here to share them with him. It creates a bittersweet ache for the past.

“But, um… yeah,” Jim says after their laughter dies down. He works his jaw, feeling his still alien teeth slide against each other. “I think I do miss some of it. Not all the awful things that happened, but it- it wasn’t all awful, right? I’m not imagining that?”

“ _No, no I get you. We got Arrrgh and Blinky out of it, plus you never would’ve talked to Claire if you hadn’t accidentally auditioned for the play-”_

“Hey, harsh.”

“ _-and I’m gonna say I really, really would’ve missed my war hammer if I didn’t have it. I wouldn’t know what I was missing out on, but I would miss it. The amulet is pretty awesome, too, and… well, the shadow staff_ was _awesome. Before the possession thing.”_

“…Can’t have the good without the bad, I guess.”

Toby laughs without real humor. “ _Isn’t that the truth.”_

It’s wrong to miss the war, even just parts of it. Jim knows that. It’s not just him and his friends who lost important things during it- whole families of trolls, _gone_ in a blink of an eye _,_ and an entire population displaced from where they’d been living for hundreds of years. And that’s just recent tragedy. Gunmar’s reign of terror stretches back so far it makes Jim’s head and heart hurt just to think on it. He shouldn’t miss even the better parts of it, like sparring after school or gaining new friends through adventures or… any of that stuff. All the bad things that overshadow the brief good things should make him hate _all_ of it.

“ _I know, dude. I get it,”_ Toby says, when Jim tells him those thoughts. “ _I think I might still be processing some of it, but… it’s weirder to_ not _have it still going on, than it is to miss it even just a little? That’s how I feel, anyway.”_

Jim rubs his eyes, but feels a little better to know he’s not alone in the tangled up nostalgia. “You think trolls have therapists?” he jokes absently, not really thinking too deeply about it. “Maybe I’d benefit from one.”

“ _Actually… I don’t think they have much concept of therapy, in troll society? I mentioned it to Arrrgh one time and he gave me this ridiculously offended look. And he, no offense to the big guy- could probably use some.”_

Arrrgh never talks about his time with Gunmar’s army, despite it making up the bulk of his life experiences from the sounds of the timeline. Jim had always taken the hint and kept away from the subject, figuring the large troll had things handled regardless.

“That’s… kind of not good,” Jim says slowly. The part of him that’s spent a lifetime of discussing with his mom various topics of health- the mind, body, and spirit combined- rallies against the idea of trolls not having healthcare for sickness of the mind.

“ _That’s what I said- thought, actually. Arrrgh clammed up really bad about it; said he and Blinky talked about it and that’s enough. You’d think someone who’s gone through a couple hundred years of trauma would wanna find someone actually trained to help out with that.”_

Something twinges wrong in Jim, faint and irritating. “I don’t know… maybe it’s too private for him to share with anyone else.”

“ _Um, hello? The point of therapy is for you to_ have _someone to talk to about the private stuff. You remember my therapist in elementary and middle school, Darlene, right? She was awesome. I’d introduce her to Arrrgh if he weren’t so cagey, plus because of obvious troll reasons.”_

Jim frowns. For whatever reason, a thread of discomfort has wormed its way into his chest. “Yeah, but there’s some stuff you just don’t share with other people. Arrrgh’s got that kind of stuff, and he’s allowed to keep it to himself.”

“ _Dude, are you saying you wouldn’t share everything, too?”_

“Well, yeah,” Jim says tersely, hair on his neck prickling for some reason. The idea of divulging _private things_ about himself and his life, or about his _friends_ , he- no, just no. The thought alone makes a growl want to rise in his throat.

“ _That defeats the entire purpose of therapy, I hope you know. Like, if I were still seeing Darlene and I could actually talk about even a third of what’s gone on in my life, I’d definitely be-”_

“ _No.”_

“ _Jim?”_

“You don’t have to talk to her about anything,” Jim hears himself saying, not really consciously picking his words, though they come out a note just off from frustrated. “You have me, and Claire, and- Arrrgh and Blinky. You have us.”

“ _Of course, yeah I have you guys to talk to- but she’s literally been trained for that kind of thing, and she really helped with my parents’ death-”_

Jim growls, hair down his spine standing up defensively.

_No. She’s not allowed to know those things._

“ _Jesus, Jim.”_ Toby’s voice is confused and a little annoyed. “ _This is all hypothetical anyway, but why’re you pissed off about me getting help keeping my shit in order? Not cool.”_

“I…” Jim blinks, cutting off the angry noise in his throat. He forces his hackles to settle back down, breathing out slowly and feeling mortified for the umpteenth time in one night. “Sorry. I just. You can talk to us, Tobes. Talk to me. Not her.” He feels suddenly desperate to let Toby know that, enough that the feeling is jagged in him.

Toby sounds concerned as he replies, “ _I’m talking to you right now, buddy. Chill. You’re worrying me here.”_

Jim is worrying himself, truthfully. Where had that even come from? It’d been like- something just flipped on its head in him. Almost a complete inversion of the thought, if he’s honest with himself…

Jim internally shudders, freaked out and ashamed. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m- I’m having a bad night. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“ _Kinda like you shouldn’t have yelled at Nomura?”_ Toby says, bringing things right back around in a circle to what Jim still doesn’t want to talk about, even though they already did.

Jim groans. “Yes, like I shouldn’t have yelled at Nomura. I shouldn’t have gone off at either of you. I really am sorry, Tobes. I… I don’t know what’s going on with me lately.”

The last part comes out a little hushed, a fraction of his full fear threading into the words. When Jim thinks too hard about the scary changes to him, it makes his hands want to shake. If they weren’t clutched around his phone and a handful of grass, they probably would be shaking.

He could handle all this- could handle _himself,_ back at the beginning of him having transformed into a full and proper hunter. Why can’t he anymore? (What’s _wrong_ with him?)

“ _You’re probably stressed is all, dude. Moving all the way across the country is enough a stress on its own- plus you have a ton of people to take care of on top of that, so… don’t snap at me like that again, but I understand why you’re sounding a liiiittle high-strung.”_

“I’m not… _high strung.”_

“ _You kind of are.”_

“I am not.”

“ _Respectfully, you definitely are.”_

Jim breathes out a huff, dragging a hand down his face. He’s somewhere between smiling and grimacing. “’m tryin’ not to be,” he admits in a mumble, still shamefaced.

“ _I know, dude,”_ Toby says, warm and concerned. _“‘s why I’m letting you off easy for the snap.”_

“Sorry, again.”

“ _It’s- well, it’s not cool, but I forgive you, dude. Now just go say that to Nomura, too, and maybe possibly hopefully she’ll feel the same way.”_

“I don’t… _think_ she’ll stab me during the apology, so yeah. I’ll give it a shot.”

“ _Good. Now let’s talk about happier subjects than all this while I walk home- it’s dark out and I’ve reached my limit for walking around alone at night. It was always more fun with you guys around, anyway.”_

“You’ve got your hammer though, right?” Jim asks, abruptly feeling a jab of fear. (There’s nothing left to fear in Arcadia, the worst it has to offer are _goblins._ He can’t shake the trepidation, though. For himself or his friends.)

“ _No duh, course I have it. I don’t think I’ve gone anywhere without it in months.”_

Jim breathes out his tension, relieved.  Tonight is so stressful. He might just go to bed a few hours early, to escape his continuous mistakes and slips and spikes in emotions.

For now, he talks with his best friend. It’s not as good as it would be in person, but the moments of time they can have together over the phone helps Jim keep his life together. Partially because Toby is a spot of easy happiness in the relative chaos of everything, and partially because his friend has a knack for helping sort that chaos out. Where Jim falters, he can almost always depend on Toby to at least have some kind of solution, even if it doesn’t always work. The attempt and intent helps more than Jim could probably ever explain.

By the time Toby has made it home, Jim has unwound himself and feels… not quite peaceful, but something certainly close. He’s certainly thawed the icy clenched of anxiety in his chest; having felt it shrink bit by bit, until it became manageable again.

“ _I better get inside before Arrrgh gets worried,”_ Toby says reluctantly, after standing outside a while longer even after getting home. “ _You gonna be okay, buddy? ‘cause I could stick around longer if you need.”_

Jim takes his phone away from his ear, checking the time. He shakes his head to himself and brings it back close to say, “No, its fine. I’ll be alright. I was overreacting about everything anyway, and you should sleep sooner than later.”

“ _You swear you’re gonna be alright?”_

“I’m fine, Tobes. You talked me out of it.”

“ _It’s just my duty as your best friend, no sweat. Now go apologize to the nice scary changeling lady, and say hi to Claire and Blinky for me, aight?”_

“Will do. Talk to you later?”

“ _Yeah, talk to you later. Take care of yourselves.”_

“I promise we will.”

_“Good. Alright, bye, Jimbo.”_

“Bye, Tobes,” Jim replies, and when he lifts his phone away to stare at the screen, he hesitates a moment before hitting end on the call.

The quiet of the night envelops him, and as Jim lays there in the grass alone, the absence of Toby’s voice rings in his ears. Jim literally just finished talking to his friend, and he already misses Toby all over again.

Which is exactly how all of his phone calls end him feeling, even with the lingering warmth of their conversations.

Jim lies on the ground a while longer, then sighs, and drags himself together enough to stand up.

 

-/-

 

The run back down to the market isn’t half the fun it usually is. Jim’s fluctuation in moods has left him feeling worn out and too tired for strong emotions anymore. He goes through the motions of his usual route, stretching muscles and speeding up his heartrate.

When he comes back to the market’s enormous cavern, he’s still out of it enough he doesn’t immediately notice the other individual using the outskirt paths. Evidently, the other person is just as out of it, as she doesn’t notice him for a full minute, either.

Jim blinks; realizing the troll nearby is in fact not a troll, but a changeling. Nomura blinks at his appearance as well, seeming somewhat taken aback.

They stare at one another for a beat, and then Jim quietly asks, “…Can I walk with you?”

Nomura examines him, searching in the way she does with everyone… and nods once.

Jim falls into step beside her, and they keep to the edges of the market as they walk. The glow of the crystals all around them light the way, toned down to a pleasant dimness this far from Trollmarket’s center.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Jim says, honest as he can after they’ve traveled a ways. His eyes stay mostly on the ground in front of them as he speaks. “I let myself get riled up, and I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. It wasn’t okay, even if I was worried.”

“…It’s rare for someone to pay an apology to me.”

Jim risks a glance over at Nomura, looking for tells in her expression. She has a somewhat unreadable mask of calm, but Jim doesn’t detect any signs of it being forced. She hasn’t chased him off, either.

“It’s even rarer that I don’t pay someone back properly for _yelling_ at me,” she continues, meeting Jim’s eyes with a pointed gaze. He puts his ears back and returns her look with an appropriately apologetic one. Nomura scoffs. “Had it been anyone else, they’d have lost an arm at least.”

Jim perks up a little, hope building. “…But, because it was me… you didn’t cut off my arm?”

Nomura doesn’t answer, but doesn’t deny it either.

“ _Regardless,”_ she says, somewhat cold in tone, “if you do ever decide to try yelling at me again, there will be consequences.” As Jim nods, she watches him. And like an afterthought, she adds, “So I suppose I can forgive this single offense, granted it never happens again.”

“Of course.” Jim pauses, thinking. “Wait, I mean- I’ll do my best that I don’t yell at you again, but… I can’t promise I’m not gonna get mad whenever you refuse my help.”

Nomura hisses, bringing their walk to a halt. “I don’t _need-”_

“I know! I know you don’t, but- can’t you let me anyway?” He doesn’t shy away from Nomura’s hard stare. “You can take care of yourself, Nomura. I know that, I respect that- but it doesn’t mean you have to face every single thing in life by yourself. Not… not anymore.”

Nomura breaks their stare off, silent as she puts her eyes straight ahead. But with the way her ears are positioned… she’s still listening to him, even if she’s not answering.

Jim chews his lip, before taking a risk and adding, “This isn’t the Janus Order. You’re a Trollhunter, now, and we help each other. You’ve helped _me_ , so… let me help you. At least with people _attacking you_ , god.”

Nomura is silent a beat longer, and then sighs. “Your desire to protect every person you meet is a fool’s errand. You’ll inevitably fail.”

“But I’m not alone. I have friends, we protect each other,” Jim says firmly.

Nomura laughs bitterly. “I’m a _changeling_ , Trollhunter. We are no one’s friend.” She shakes her head, her voice dropping as she says, “We’re barely friends to ourselves, let alone to others.”

Jim stares at her, disturbed and saddened by the words in equal measure. Crossing a line all over again, he puts a hand out and lightly closes his fingers around Nomura’s bicep. Her eyes snap to him, a snarl that’s probably pure reflex pulling at her lips.

“You’re my friend,” Jim says fiercely, holding Nomura’s gaze and not letting her turn away from him. “Nothing about the past matters anymore, even if we used to be enemies. You’re my friend and a Trollhunter and _one of us_. Even if you don’t want me to, I’m going to try and protect you.”

That’s his job. That’s his- his whole _purpose_ , now. Jim is the Trollhunter, and the Trollhunter answers every call, protects every innocent. Nomura might not be as innocent as some, but she’s one of them. Even if it’s silent, Jim will answer her call.

He gave every part of himself to this cause. He won’t let one of his own friends fall through the cracks.

Nomura raises her other arm, putting a hand on Jim’s and pulling his grip off her. It’s gentle, slow. It’s not a rejection, just a request for space.

Jim lets go. Nomura still doesn’t run away or lash out at him.

“…You’ll grind yourself to dust, trying to fend off the entire world,” Nomura says to him, grave and serious.

Jim lifts his chin, taking the challenge in stride. “I don’t have to fend off the entire world, just most of it. I’m not fighting any of you- you’ve got my back. I know you do.”

Nomura stares at him like she thinks he’s crazy. Her disbelief in his resolve only bolsters Jim further.

He’ll protect her, even if Nomura doesn’t entirely need that. It’s just the same as he feels about everyone else- they don’t _need_ him to protect them, but damn if he won’t.

Nomura seems to be struggling to find words, starting to say things and then restarting. Finally, with more than a hint of exasperation, she settles on, “I don’t understand you at all. You don’t have to go this far, even as the Trollhunter. All you’ll do by helping me is complicate everything further.”

Jim ducks his head and shrugs, even though he knows he really does. Because, “I’m just… sick of having to see my friends get hurt. What they did to you… it’s wrong. I’m not going to just stand by and let that happen. Not to you, not to _anyone._ ”

(Especially, _especially_ not to his friends.)

Nomura regards him with a sort of pity, and a blatant amount of confusion is aimed his way. “Like I said… little Gynt,” she says, reaching over and brushing her clawed fingers against his ear. Jim freezes in shock at the initiation of contact, and gets a sharp tweak of the ear for holding still.

Nomura smirks at him, releasing his earlobe. “You’ll grind yourself to dust, trying to fend off the entire world.”

Jim rubs his ear as Nomura starts walking again, watching after her with a confused jumble of gratitude and annoyance. She’s not said _yes_ to letting him help her, but… she gave him a borderline affectionate gesture and hasn’t quite said _no_ again.

Jim smiles, huffing.

It’s something like progress.

“And it’s like _I_ said,” he says, catching up with Nomura’s pace. “It’s not the entire world, just most of it…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation of jim's one-eighty on therapy for anyone who didn't get it: trolls are SUPER PRIVATE about themselves, and anything that could be construed as a 'weakness' (ie emotional/mental vulnerability or instability) is kept exclusively within close family or partnerships. jim made a human joke about needing therapy, and when it became a more serious option, his instincts against showing weakness basically said "um, NO?"
> 
> and that was today's lesson in chill's headcanons about troll culture, thanks for coming for my ted talk everyone.
> 
> (also: if anyone missed it, i published a future ficlet in this series! its just a vague oneshot of what i aim to do with Adjustments here, regarding the golden trio. :3c)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the new tag "Gratuitous Cooking Descriptions" becomes entirely relevant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT DEAD.
> 
> just terribly distracted.
> 
> have a chapter that took a stupidly long time to write, consisting mainly of jim being a huge NERD about cooking and shopping. pretend there's a ghibli soundtrack going on the background, bc that's what i listened to the whole time i was writing. sweet... and kinda fluffy at times. :)

What little left of Jim’s jumbled evening falls into place, as he and Nomura return to the cave and find Claire still within. And keeping company again with Notenrique, as they emerge from her bedroom at Jim’s greeting.

Claire’s expression becomes softly relieved, taking in that it’s the both of them returning. The chilly feeling of homesickness that’d dogged Jim all the way back eases, seeing his girlfriend again. Where the warmth of talking with Toby has waned, Claire’s presence replaces it with something equally calming. It’s one of the things that, most of all, has made the move to New Trollmarket bearable, it’s been having Claire with him.

“You doing better, now?” Claire asks in a quiet voice, once they’ve taken themselves to a corner of the kitchen.

Jim reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently. “I’m fine. We talked it out and Nomura forgives me for being stupid.”

She squeezes his hand back. “That’s good, but I didn’t really mean that part. Jim, are _you_ feeling better?”

“Of course,” he says, smiling. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Claire doesn’t answer the question, just smiling after a moment and squeezing his hand again. “Glad to hear it. So… we’re making dinner early, you said?”

“Yeah. I thought we could do something bigger than sandwiches tonight, something that’ll, you know, make a crappy night less crappy.” Jim looks at the approximation of a countertop that’s been carved out, and the part of him that dearly misses his old house mourns for his kitchen left behind. “I’ve been meaning to get this place into working order, anyway. This is as good an excuse as any to experiment with the kitchen and troll ingredients.”

“Well, there’s a lot of dirt in here, so I suppose starting early even for an early dinner makes sense,” Claire says, sighing. She steps away from him, miming rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s get to work cleaning up, then.”

“Um, wait, uh- maybe you shouldn’t,” Jim says, catching her injured arm carefully and holding it like glass. The buzz of instinct Claire’s injury triggered earlier comes back, slightly more manageable now that he’s felt it once before

“Jim, I am not some fragile porcelain doll,” Claire says in a warning tone, slowly taking his hand off her wrist. “I can handle scrubbing a filthy counter even with a hurt arm.”

Jim tries and mostly fails to not make a concerned sound in the back of his throat. Claire gives him a flat look.

“Do you want kisses later?”

“Claire-”

“Do you?”

“…Yes.”

“Then go get me your old apron, and get going to buy the groceries while I clean.”

 _“Mmmm…_ but-”

“Now, Jim.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim says, defeated.

“Thank you,” Claire says, smiling sweetly. She shoos him away, and Jim is obediently shooed to grab his apron from his travel backpack. His mom had packed it for him in a well-meaning gesture to give him a piece of his old life, but the first time Jim tried it on after getting here- it was too small for him. The discovery had hurt a lot more deeply than he would have thought, and now… he hangs onto it mostly out of homesickness.

Claire can use it, though. Jim doesn’t mind at all the idea of her wearing his old apron, or old jackets, or any of his stuff, really. (It’s a very, very nice idea, actually.)

“Well aren’t you just whipped,” Notenrique chuckles as Jim passes the table he’s lounging on. Jim lifts his lip and growls faintly.

“You say something, Notenrique?” Claire asks pointedly.

“Not a word, missy.”

“Oh? Well, I have a few for you.” Claire smiles even more sweetly at the changeling than she had at Jim. “You’re going with him for shopping.”

“What? The hell I am!”

Jim wisely leaves at that point. By the time he’s returned with the apron, Claire is wetting a rag in a soapy bucket and Notenrique is sitting on a big lidded wicker basket, scowling.

“Coming, shopping buddy?” Jim teases, once he’s handed off the apron.

“Shut up!” snaps the changeling. Notenrique hops off the basket as Jim picks it up, sliding its strap over his shoulder. It’s big enough to carry plenty of groceries, and he’s actually become rather fond of it. It feels very rustic, and plastic bags are bad for the environment anyway.

“What’s going on, here?” Nomura asks just as Jim and Notenrique are nearly out the door. With the changeling out of her temporary living quarters, Jim hears Claire politely pounce on the chance to get someone else to help with kitchen prep.

“How does she do that thing?” Notenrique complains as they walk. “She just- says a few words, an’ afore you know it, you’re doing some stupid thing you wouldn’ta otherwise done!”

“She is the mayor’s daughter,” Jim says, smiling. “I think politics are in her blood, even if she and her mom don’t get along sometimes. Claire was really popular at our school; I don’t think there was a single person who didn’t like her.”

“Clever kid, she knows exactly how to work a room don’t she?” Notenrique says, and Jim is surprised to find there’s sincerity in the compliment.

And Jim isn’t inclined to disagree with that statement, so he just smiles wider to himself and lets the pride of Claire being his girlfriend (of him being _her_ boyfriend) finish pushing away the remnants of his bad experiences tonight.

The actual market of Trollmarket is still growing, more stands being set up as citizens re-establish their livelihoods. Jim skims the nonorganic food options, not really looking at them with any intent to purchase, before moving to stalls with grown or hunted food.

The produce being farmed around the Heartstone has yet to reach its full potential; the time it takes to coax plants into growing being longer than they’ve been here. But, there are a few quick growing things that make the bulk of what everyone has been eating the past weeks. There are also cuts of meat for sale, hung off hooks and at least a day fresh.

Jim has been so busy, mostly on purpose, that he hasn’t had time to really stop and appreciate the growing diversity of ingredients here. He’s tended to just eat whatever Blinky put in front of him and try not to look at it too hard.

The pink insides of the fish for sale are awfully tempting, however. They seem mostly like regular fish, as opposed to the exotic mushrooms and berry producing moss in the next stall. Jim sniffs, taking in the variety of smells around him, feeling a twinge of hunger at the raw meat in front of him.

“Just caught tonight, Trollhunter,” says the stall owner, grinning with a mouthful of chipped teeth. “I’ll give you whichever you want.” He’s taller and bulkier than Jim, impressive thick horns curving backwards over his skull. But, even with collections of scars in his stony purple skin, he’s wearing a stained old apron with fish handsewn onto it and has a kind tone. Jim did a reflexive onceover of the troll as soon as he’d approached the stall; looking for signs of intent to attack, aggression of any kind… and he’d found none.

He should probably stop looking for enemies around every corner. It’s just stressing him out.

“Where’d you get fish out here?” Jim asks, touching the very tip of a fin. He hasn’t had fish in ages, it feels like. Smoked, fried, oven baked or otherwise. He doesn’t recognize this type of fish at all, but the dark orange scales and wide fins seem okay enough to eat. Even if they remind him a lot of goldfish.

“The river down the way,” replies the fisherman. He laughs, patting his metal leg. “Me an’ my son used to bring in the freshest catches every evenin’, until I lost my leg here and couldn’t fish myself anymore. I ended up stuck here counting cash while he got all the fun of things, haha.” His jovial smile fades a little. “Until Gunmar got to the market, at least.”

A father and son business, but without the son any longer. Jim’s grip around his basket strap tightens.

“I’m- I’m sorry for your loss,” Jim says sincerely as he can, regret for not being better, making his choices faster, killing Gunmar _sooner-_ all of those mistakes clutching at his insides and tearing.

The fisherman waves him off. “Ah, my Tor went out the way he’d’ve wanted to. Fighting ‘til he was dust. I knew he’d end up pickin’ a fight he couldn’t win someday, and I’m just glad it was for something worthier than a tavern brawl.”

Jim nods, trying not to feel too awkward. Every time someone doesn’t blame him for Gunmar and Morgana destroying the Arcadia Trollmarket… it just makes him feel guiltier.

“Here, for everything you did for us, I’ll throw in a freebie,” says the fisherman, regaining his smile. “Of all my customers, you definitely deserve a discount, Trollhunter.”

His title settles on Jim’s shoulders, heavy as always, but a reminder that he can’t falter. He has to be strong. For the market; for everyone he protects. “You don’t have to,” Jim says, a little embarrassed by the special treatment.

“Ah, but I want to! I have plenty fish to spare, anyway. I got myself a new worker not long after I claimed this spot for the stand, and she’s turned out to be a better fisher than I’d’a expected.” He waves at the hanging fish, each the length of Jim’s forearm. “Now pick, pick!”

Jim laughs and does, sniffing subtly and using the scents of the fish to identify the best few. He’s feeding a full-grown troll, two changelings, himself and Claire. They’ll need at least six, on top of the produce he’s yet to buy.

The fish are wrapped in thick paper and tucked at the bottom of the basket. When Jim tries to hand over the correct number of coins, the fisherman will only take half.

“You said _one_ was free,” Jim says.

“Changed my mind, you get three,” says the fisherman, grinning. He sticks out a large hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Trollhunter. I should’a done this in the first place, but I’ve always been a bit lousy with finer manners. Call me Turik. Whenever you need fish, you’ll know where to find me.”

“Thank you, I will,” Jim says, shaking Turik’s hand. He tries very hard not to think of the loss Turik has suffered, and yet is here, still smiling and laughing afterwards.

As Jim turns to go, once they’ve exchanged goodbyes, he finds himself tripping over something below his sightline. As per _usual_ , dammnit. Said something yells out a series of curses that could make ears bleed.

“Sorry!” Jim apologizes quickly, stooping down to help Notenrique back up. His hand is slapped away, so with that offer of help refused, instead Jim starts to pick up the things the changeling dropped. He stops, staring at the darkly green thing in his hand. “Is this… a vegetable?”

“ _Duh,_ you’re fucking welcome for it, too,” Notenrique bites out, tossing the veggies back into the sack Jim knocked out of his hands. “Some thanks that was, _kickin’_ ‘em out of my hands, you ungrateful bastard.”

“I didn’t see you,” Jim says, handing over the ones he’s grabbed. “I really didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. Um, but what are they, exactly?”

“Basically like a squash, ‘cept they grow faster an’ in bunches.” Someone else hands Notenrique some runaway not-squash, and he stops just before taking them, staring upwards.

“I think you lost these,” Turik says. When Notenrique just keeps staring at him warily, he holds the not-squash out again. “C’mon, don’t got all night now do we?”

Notenrique snatches up the little vegetables, stuffing them into his sack. He side-eyes Turik for another moment, like he’s looking for something, and then mutters, “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” replies Turik, who stands back up to his full height carefully; metal prosthetic creaking. “You both have a good night, yeah?”

“You, too,” Jim says, following Notenrique, who didn’t wait around to say goodbye. It’s not hard to catch up; the small changeling is only a few short paces away even with the head start, and he’s bogged down by the traffic of the market getting in his way and the sack in his arms.

“Want me to carry that?” Jim asks. Notenrique hisses at him and Jim raises his hands. “Alright, you can carry it. I just thought it-”

“I can do it _myself,”_ Notenrique snaps. Jim shrugs and lets the changeling be.

“How’d you pay for those, by the way?” Jim asks, since that’s a decent amount of produce and he knows he hasn’t given Notenrique any of the coins in his pocket.

Notenrique chuckles, smirking. “I got my ways, kid. A friend of mine didn’t mind partin’ with a couple’a these, long as I promised to drop ‘round sometime tomorrow.”

“What for?” Jim questions, and Notenrique waggles his eyebrows at him. Jim stares at him for another few seconds, even more confused, until an unfortunate thought occurs to him.

“Do you mean what I think you mean.”

“Maybe, but I doubt that brain of yours can wrap itself all the way around it.”

“Oh my god. We’re, uh. We’re done with this topic of conversation.”

“I’m a nice little side dish she likes to sample sometimes, you know? I’m good with secrets, so. Whenever she’s lonely…”

“Stop talking.”

“Just to spice things up with someone a little on the exotic side.”

“Right now. Stop talking.”

“I meet a very niche genre of needs, right? Small, suave, easy to talk to if I’m feelin’ like it- lots’a trolls dig a bite sized snack here and there.”

“I’m about to go home and make dinner, so the food metaphors are going to haunt me _literally_ all night.”

“Then my job here is done.”

Yes, and now Jim will never, ever be able to wash the blurry half-formed images the conversation evoked in his head. It. Well. It answers at least one of his questions that he never wanted to ask- trolls _do_ in fact do something in the privacy of their bedrooms.

Notenrique just laughs as Jim groans. Jim is halfway tempted to kick the sack out of Notenrique’s hands again for the inappropriate conversation, but someone beats him to it. Another troll, not looking down at all as she walks, practically runs Notenrique over and sends the not-squash to the ground all over again.

“ _Hey!”_ snaps the changeling, growling as he grabs for his groceries, trying to collect them all before too many get crushed under passerby’s feet.

The troll who ran into him looks down with slight surprise, and then her lip curls and she turns away to keep walking.

“Um, excuse me? Excuse me?” Jim says, raising his voice to be heard over the market noise. The lady troll looks back, and her disinterested expression changes to attentive surprise.

“Trollhunter,” she says, standing up straighter and turning to face him properly. “Is there something the matter?”

“Yeah, you just ran my friend over and didn’t even say sorry,” Jim says curtly, bending down and grabbing as many not-squash within reach of himself. He looks up again at the troll, frowning. “You could at least help him pick them all up.”

“But--”

Jim’s neck scruff starts to stand up, and he pins a glare on the troll. He feels Notenrique still slowly, tension filling the air. People around them are giving them a wide berth, and some are unsubtly staring as they pass.

The lady troll’s expression pinches after a long moment, gaze dropping from Jim’s. She bends to start picking up the produce. Jim hands Notenrique what he’s grabbed without a word, standing up and crossing his arms; watching the not-squash be picked up one by one until what’s salvageable is back in the sack.

“Thank you,” Jim says icily, once they’re done. The troll who snubbed Notenrique narrows her eyes at him, but nods once before turning on her heel and stalking away. A part of Jim preens, satisfied that she’d backed down and done what he told her to. He mostly just feels a quivering anger inside himself.

“…You okay?” Jim asks, glancing down at Notenrique. The changeling isn’t meeting his eyes, ears down and claws digging into the sack’s fabric.

“Just peachy,” Notenrique mutters. He lifts the sack towards Jim, and Jim takes it without comment. “Go finish shopping. Tell Claire I’ll pop ‘round in a bit, and _not a fuckin’_ _word about this,_ alright?”

“But-”

“Not _one.”_

Jim clenches his jaw, frustrated. Notenrique stares at him hard, ears flat backwards and scruff still spiked with agitation.

“Will you tell her yourself?” Jim tries.

“Depends,” Notenrique says, and doesn’t elaborate what exactly it depends on.

Jim is so very tired of changelings fighting him every step of the way about helping them. He’s already dealt with Nomura tonight, and after _that_ fiasco, he just plain doesn’t have the energy to deal with Notenrique. The changeling isn’t actually hurt, so- good enough for now.

Jim isn’t happy about it, but he says, “Fine, I won’t say anything.”

Notenrique jerks a nod, eye already averted. He starts to leave.

“There’ll be a seat at the table for you,” Jim says, before Notenrique can run off. The changeling looks at him, unreadable, and then nods again. With how small Notenrique is, once the changeling goes further than a few feet from Jim, he’s gone from sight entirely.

Jim stands alone in the busy market, and looks down at the sack in his hands. He sighs, opening the basket over his shoulder and putting the produce gently inside.

It’s just one thing after another some nights, isn’t it?

 

-/-

 

Jim buys some tasty smelling grass stuff- which, now that he thinks about it, he’s had once before. It doesn’t boil to mush like most thin leafed plants do, instead acting almost like noodles. He remembers vaguely someone handing out rations of it on the way to New Trollmarket, and at the time he’d been too injured and out of it to care much where it came from or how it tasted; just that it was _hot_ and slid down his throat to warm the lingering cold terror inside him.

The next things he looks at are bottled oils and spices. Some he knows, some he doesn’t, and Jim navigates the purchasing of them by smell and questioning the stall owners for advice on what to cook with them. He gets instructions for a marinating technique that works great with fish, using specific dark oil that smells heavily fermented and spicy, and handful of hard nut things that crush up into savory powder.

Once he’s got those, he figures it’ll be enough for the dinner. He doesn’t catch sight or scent of Notenrique as he makes his way back, but Jim figures that the changeling can take care of himself. Jim just hopes that won’t involve dealing with any more encounters like the one with the lady troll. Or, god forbid, anything like the attack Nomura fought off.

Claire and Nomura are just finishing up cleaning by the time Jim gets back. Nomura is the one sweeping, and she seems befuddled about that fact. The stone counter, under the attention of Claire, has become dully shiny.

“Where’s Notenrique?” Claire asks, looking behind Jim as he comes in.

“He… said he was gonna take a walk,” Jim replies, which is approximately the truth of things.

“Good, you’re back,” says Nomura, marching up to him. She grabs his hand and puts the broom in it. “I’m taking a nap. This is yours now.”

She leaves before anyone can stop her, long hair snapping behind her she walks so quickly. As the curtain to Jim’s room is pointedly shut behind her, Claire giggles.

“I think I made her mad,” she says in a hushed voice. “I don’t think anyone’s _made_ her sweep floors or wash pots in a long time.”

“You’re amazing,” Jim says, smiling and feeling a warm tug in his chest. He hefts the basket off his shoulder and onto the table, opening it up. “Right. You take a seat and have some tea, and I’ll start dinner.”

Claire reads at the table while he cooks. And it’s- good. It feels comfortable and easy. Jim likes that a lot. He likes that even with the unusual circumstances; he’s getting to spend way more time with Claire than he ever has. It feels awfully domestic, and that thought always sends a happy little shiver down his spine.

He doesn’t talk with her while he’s cooking, and she doesn’t try talking with him while she’s reading. Jim lets the companionable quiet settle over him and sinks into his work. It’s been a while since he really _cooked_ , instead of just making snacks and drinks. He needs this tonight, the simplicity of familiarity in unfamiliar surroundings.

Knife work on the fish is easy. He’d been good before becoming a Trollhunter, but nowadays use of blades in general is simple as breathing. He guts and washes the fish, scrapping the insides and then cutting off the tails and heads. Jim briefly stares at the discarded parts and feels a pang of desire to eat them, before taking that feeling and shoving it firmly down. He’s willing to let a lot of things slide, but he’s not letting himself slip that far after tonight’s mistakes.

The fish guts are put in a bucket to get rid of later. If someone else wants to eat them, fine, but Jim is _not_ letting himself fall so far from his own standards. He ignores them and their scent and sets a pot of water on the fire; leaving it to heat up for later.

He gets back to prepping the fish; brushing the insides with the mixture of oil and spices, crushing the nut things and swirling them into the oil in a cup. Jim coats them thickly, so the flavors will sink into the meat, and leaves them to the side to sit. He asks Claire to go gets the tinfoil she’s got stashed in her room at that point; placed among her things for safekeeping, since everyone else is liable to eat it. Jim guiltily snacks on a few strips while he cuts the not-squash open, examining their insides.

The flesh of the vegetable is a faint pink, at odds with its exterior black-green. He scoops out the seeds and puts them in the garbage, wrapping the split halves together in tinfoil and bringing them to the fire. Placing the dozen palm-sized silver ovals around the licking flames, he sees the water is nearly boiling, and moves to wash and chop the long thick grass.

Some regular vegetable oil- courtesy of Claire’s shopping trips above- gets added to the water as it roils. The sweet smelling grass is crisp in Jim’s nose as he cuts off the ends and drops them into the pot. Like every other piece of kitchenware he owns, the heating of his metal pasta ladle makes it even more enticing to eat than usual. Which is why he’s snacking on the tinfoil, _not_ his utensils. As soon as he’s done here, they’re going back in their locked box for safe keeping; from him, and from every other trollish individual in their home.

Notenrique comes back sometime when Jim isn’t paying attention; slipping into the cave and returning to Claire’s side. By the time Jim notices the extra company, the small changeling has stolen one of Claire’s coats and curled up on a chair with it. Now and again, between turning pages of her book and picking absently at her bottom lip, Claire will run a hand along Notenrique’s scruff. The changeling never so much as opens his eyes, remaining still and accepting the touches.

Jim chooses not to say anything, feeling like he’s intruding on their moment. There’s a brief tug of jealousy- Jim wishes he were that comfortable having someone else casually touch him, as he is now- but the things Notenrique had said about Claire come back to him. How deeply they care for each other.

Jim doesn’t have blood siblings, but… Draal.

Jim has to stop for a few moments, not looking at Notenrique and Claire, not looking at the food that’s cooking, not looking at anything. An unexpected burn in his eyes comes, bitter and hot.

He breathes in. Breathes out. Refocuses on cooking, and instead of the understanding of how a brother can come from the least likely of places.

Jim slices up the fish into neat, exacting bits; rationing out the unusual sushi on plates according to each person’s dietary needs. Claire’s has the least- though she’s more than welcome to some of Jim’s if she wants extra- and the largest portion goes to Blinky’s. Jim puts the sole fork that will be needed with Claire’s portion, too, since everyone else would just eat a utensil.

Jim is getting used to finger food making up the bulk of his diet. There are plenty of human cultures in the world who use just their fingers to eat, so it’s one of the less strange feeling transitions he’s had to make.

By the time Blinky has come home, everything is ready. The books and boxes occupying the table have been shoved somewhere else to be a later problem, done so by Claire before Jim could do it himself. Jim’s mentor and father figure is more than pleased by the sight of a large dinner, and he takes his seat at the table happily. Nomura is coaxed out of her nap (with as much care and respectfulness as possible, because Nomura will definitely not tolerate anything less) and she comes to the table as well.

There are topics studiously not discussed or broached, but for the most part… the whole affair goes smoothly. Good food always makes any situation better. Jim finds himself smiling the entire time, relaxed and happy.

For the first time, probably, Jim sits back in his chair at the dinner table and looks around himself and really, truly feels like this is a home. He’s called it that because it’s where they all live, him, Blinky, and Claire- but with Nomura and Notenrique here and the five of them having a real dinner together… it’s like it’s changed the whole atmosphere of the cave.

It feels properly like a home to him, now. The only thing to spoil that is the missing members of their family, and even then, the twist of want for them to be here only hurts Jim for brief moments. It’s easier to focus on what’s in front of him, to smile and laugh, and to try sneaking a bite of Claire’s food before she can stop him.

 

-/-

 

Nomura is sleeping in Jim’s room, so Jim is sleeping in Claire’s room. With her.

After everything he’s been through the past year, it’s kind of hilarious a part of him is still capable of freaking out about sleeping in the same room as his _girlfriend._ Jim’s fought in a literal war and here he is, butterflies in his stomach about sleeping in the same room as Claire.

Jim wishes he had cell service down here, because talking to Toby right now would be really good for his nerves. Maybe just have Toby actually be physically here, too. Yeah, that would help Jim for more reasons than just feeling confident about this situation. (He misses living just a few houses from Toby so, so much. Misses being able to just walk over whenever he wanted to, for spare butter or company to the corner store, and Toby doing the same to Jim. He misses his best friend.)

Jim’s not entirely sure why he’s panicking, even just slightly, about this; he and Claire, they slept really close together all the way to New Jersey, practically spooning at points. Maybe it’s just different because they’re not still in shock and are in a _room_ , rather than surrounded by a few hundred refugees. Rooms are where… _things_ happen, after all.

Except, not this one. Definitely not this one. Partially because Jim doesn’t feel anywhere near comfortable with the idea of taking that step right now, and partially because of…

“You better not shed on these,” Claire tells Notenrique sternly, letting her thickest coat be added to the pile the changeling has made.

“Only in the summertime, kiddo,” Notenrique says, plumping up the tangle of coats and blankets. He turns in a circle a few times, and then basically burrows into it.

Jim is faintly envious that Notenrique is a smidge closer to Claire’s camping bed than him, but otherwise is trying to be indifferent. Welcoming, even. When Notenrique had announced he’d be staying for a sleepover, too, Jim had been annoyed at first. And then the changeling had snagged his ear- literally, having climbed the wall to do it- and explained things.

“ _You think I’m just gonna fuck off when you got a top of the Order assassin sleepin’ in the next room?”_ Notenrique had hissed. “ _Think again, bucko. Galadrigal an’ you are one thing; Nomura’s a whole fuckin’ other.”_

Ah, changeling distrust and suspicion. Jim is nearly starting feel like its normal behavior. And Notenrique’s concern about Claire’s safety is understandable. Jim worries about it constantly, too, along with everyone else’s. If being here to keep an eye on things makes Notenrique feel better about Nomura sleeping within the same home as Claire, then fine. That’s one more person _Jim_ doesn’t have to worry about not having eyes on, and one more person watching Claire’s back. A win win.

Jim settles deeper into his sleeping bag, lying on his stomach with only his head and arms exposed. The thick rug that’s underneath him is plenty cushion, and after everything that’s happened tonight, he’s more than ready to shut his eyes and just drift for a while. And maybe, with the happy ending note the night had, his dreams won’t turn to nightmares.

“Hey,” Jim says quietly, drawing Claire’s attention. He smiles for her. “G’night.”

She smiles back, her hair gently mussed and worn hoodie making Jim’s heart squeeze. “G’night,” Claire says softly, “I’ll turn off the light in a bit. I just…”

She waves the book she’s got in her hands. Jim nods, and then rolls to face the other direction. His sensitive ears pick up each flip of the page, Claire’s quiet sighs, and Notenrique’s very faint snores. Jim closes his eyes, letting the ambience of the room wash over him and draw his consciousness away from reality.

The soft shush of pages turning and Claire’s breathing are the only things that Jim hears, after a point. For a long time, she lingers awake.

By the time Claire lowers the light of the room’s crystals to near darkness, Jim is wrapped in a half-sleep that’s warmer and more content than any he’s had in a long time. His earlier nervousness of sleeping in the same room as Claire is gone completely; just feeling a comforting… weight, almost, in his chest. Like something’s clicked into place that he didn’t know was ill-fitting.

It’s something like satisfaction, something like quiet happiness. Jim is too sleepy to probe deeper at the feeling; just pleased to be curled in his sleeping bag and have Claire nearby.

 

-/-

 

For once in recent memory, Jim’s dreams are quiet and peaceful. There’s nothing but a soothing, delving blackness; the feeling of safety surrounding him as he drifts soundly.

It’s someone else’s dreams that disturb him.

Jim wakes at a sound that flips every one of his fight or flight switches- reacting sharply to the choked, painful noise nearby. The thick rug he’s lying on is able to withstand the clench and drag of his nails on it, but his sleeping bag isn’t as lucky as it restrains his legs; zipper making a tearing sound as he fights free.

For a blinding moment, Jim’s heart races thick and heavy in his ears; his body strung tight and on all fours, eyes darting in the darkness for the source of disturbance. A growl budding in his throat, quiet enough it won’t be heard by a nearby enemy, but ready to swell in sound and become roared _warning_ should one spot him.

It takes him a long, long moment to drag himself out of the startled terror. And by then, he’s realized the reason for his awful wakeup call.

Claire is crying.

Jim is up and off the floor before he thinks to move; crouching next to his girlfriend’s bedside and anxiously reaching for her, while a keening whine comes out of his throat, trying to warp his words as he asks, “ _Claire,_ what’s-?”

Claire makes a cut off gasp and flinches away, curling in on herself and raggedly breathing. She’s got her knees to her chest and her head down, arms up defensively- at Jim.

 _Of course,_ a removed part of Jim thinks, achy and pained, jerking himself back from her. _I’m a big shape in the dark, I sound weird, she’s already scared and I’m not human. Of course she doesn’t want me to touch her._

Except Jim physically can’t make himself back away, can’t _leave_ Claire like this, feeling a shivery tremble in himself. A forceful impulse to just- curl around Claire, push his face into her soft hair and breathe in time with her until the way her shoulders are shaking _stops._ But she- she doesn’t _want him_ near her-

Notenrique, who Jim had forgotten in his blinding moment of panic to get to Claire, clambers up from the end of the camping bed and lays his claws on Claire’s leg. Their eyes meet for a split second, and however loud the panic is in Jim’s head, he has the sense to not try chasing off the changeling.

Notenrique nods once, understanding, and closes his loose grip on Claire’s pants. “Hey, kid,” says the changeling, more gently than Jim has ever heard him speak, “look at me. Look at your boyfriend. Ain’t no one here but us three.”

Claire’s fingers are twisted into her loose hair, clenching tight, and she says something indecipherable, shaking her head.

“Kid?” Notenrique tries again, pressing closer to Claire. Jim finds himself leaning in as well, as subtly as he can, trying to be close as possible without crowding Claire as she shivers, shakes her head, and whispers in a voice filled with harsh, painful terror,

“-- _she’s in my head.”_

 _Who?_ Jim thinks, nearly asks, and then epiphany washes over him like ice water.

 _Morgana._ How could he have forgotten, even for a moment, what wielding the shadow staff had cost Claire? How horrifyingly close he came to _losing_ _her?_ The possession, the weeks leading up to it, the physical and mental toll it took on Claire, to the point that her skin was constantly clammy and her eyes had gone feverishly glazed- eventually she’d been trapped in that _void,_ a house full of meaningless chores that looped on themselves forever, all alone and caged in her own mind, and not a single one of them had noticed until it was almost too late.

(Jim hadn’t noticed, and Claire’s soul could have died without him even knowing. He could have spent the whole time staring lovesick into the eyes of an ageless mass murderer, while Claire withered and vanished without a sound. _And Jim wouldn’t have known._

At least, he wouldn’t have, until Morgana used his girlfriend’s body to slit his throat.)

“Aw, Claire,” Notenrique says, voice hushed. The way he pulls her hands from her hair is- careful, slow. The juxtaposition of the outright _softness_ Notenrique is showing right now, compared to the crass persona he usually has… it’s odd, and despite having plenty right to be here, Jim feels as though he’s seeing a side of the changeling he shouldn’t.

“The Pale Lady is long gone, kid,” Notenrique says, brushing the tangled bangs from Claire’s face with a claw. “That other boy of yours- the big kid, with good socks. You told me yourself he busted that staff inta a million pieces. She ain’t comin’ back ever, sis.”

Claire’s eyes are wet, a pinching fear in her expression as she sits up. And she shakes her head once, twice- _no, no you’re wrong._

“I can- I can still _feel her_ ,” Claire croaks, and her voice is so far from her usual collected, confident self, it’s plain _wrong_. She puts a hand to her hair, threading strands between her fingers tightly, tears springing in her eyes again as she says, “She’s _there,_ I beat her but- it’s like I’m just. Just _stuck_ , and I can’t- can’t push it out, and I’ve been trying to, find something to distract myself when it comes back, k-keep a light sleep schedule, but I- she’s- _there-”_

Jim reaches out, purely on instinct, and lifts Claire towards him in a rush. He’s giving into the instinct that’s been gnawing at him, to just hold Claire, curl around her, feel her small but strong body breathe and beat against his and know, with absolute certainty, that she’s _safe._

She’s safe with him.

(He’ll make sure of it.)

“ _Don’t be scared,”_ Jim says, and he feels himself floundering, unsure of how he’s supposed to fix this, but- Claire can’t keep crying, can’t keep shaking and being _afraid._ Claire isn’t someone who’s scared of practically _anything_ , even when she really should be. She’s brave, and smart, and someone with enough guts to throw herself into an unstable shadow portal with their greatest enemy in order to save everyone else.

It’s part of why he admires her so much. (Part of what scares the bejeezus out of him, every time she steers herself headlong into danger.)

It hurts to listen to Claire cry quietly, her body quivering as she fights to supress the jerky inhales it causes. A momentary thought reminds Jim that maybe she doesn’t want to be held right now, maybe she doesn’t want him touching her like this- but Claire’s head is tucked under his chin and her rapid breathing is slowing bit by bit, even as its interrupted by jagged muffled cries.

He couldn’t make himself put her down even if he tried.

Jim presses his lips to Claire’s scalp, murmuring to her nonsense comforts. He rubs her back in slow motions, firm but gentle. Her distress has filled up his senses and Jim can feel- something, stirring inside him and spreading outwards. He barely notices when Notenrique climbs over his knee, getting into Claire’s lap and hugging himself to her, taking over the soothing comforts.

A shuffle- not from Claire, not from Notenrique- snags Jim’s attention, though. He whips his head up, lips pulling into a snarl.

A glowing green eye peers at him through the darkness, partially obscured by the thick curtain in the doorway. Even though it’s Nomura, even though Jim trusts her as much as any of his friends- his body curls to cover Claire even more, and he can’t quite get his snarl to go away.

Nomura stares only for another few seconds, and then silently draws the curtain closed again. Jim hears the faintest trace of her hooves on the stone outside, and then nothing. He loosens some of the tension that’d suddenly swept over him, perceiving the interruption as a threat to Claire (who is- injured, crying, hurt, she’s _hurting,_ he has to keep her safe in this moment, from everything, _anything_ ).

Jim turns his cheek to Claire’s hair and nuzzles it, following his swelling protective instinct. At some point, he started swaying slowly, rocking them back and forth. Claire is so much smaller than him. She’s in so much pain. What parts of Jim that aren’t buzzing with protective care are twisting cold and angry. This isn’t fair. It’s over. Morgana and Gunmar and everything- all over. Jim can’t escape the horrors they wrought even now, and neither can Claire, it seems.

It’s just- not fair. It’s over. They won. Why do these things have to keep hurting them after everything?

Jim feels an emotion rise up in him, thick and hot. It moves through his bones and lungs like something physical, like the buzzing protective instincts in him and yet not. He just wants Claire to be safe, to _feel_ safe. Right now, nothing else matters.

The physical sensation of that desire for his girlfriend to feel safe continues, even once Claire’s shaking has stopped completely, and they’ve sat in silence for a bit. Except, Jim thinks he’s hearing a faint, dull sound, rising and falling, but that might just be leftover adrenaline in his system messing with him.

Claire shifts against his chest, pushing back against his arms around her. Jim feels momentary hesitation- he wants her close, wants her against him, safe and protected and- he lets her go, sitting up straight and feeling wired all over. Staring at Claire’s puffy eyes and wet cheeks, fingers twitching to touch her again.

“…Jim?” Claire says in a slightly hoarse voice.

“Yeah?” he says, and then shuts his mouth, feeling the word come out strangely. He almost touches his throat, befuddled why the warp to his voice happened.

Claire is still staring at him, lips tugging upwards for some reason. “Are you… purring?”

“I’m-” Jim stops, becoming aware that what he thought was just a very strong emotion, is in fact a physical reaction in his body. He’s. He really is-

“He is, an’ it’s nothin’ I want a part of,” Notenrique grumbles, abandoning ship and hopping off Claire’s lap. He sits on the floor instead, poised like an annoyed cat. Jim meanwhile makes a sort of high pitched squeak and covers his face, mortified.

“Oh my god,” he says. It’s still going, messing with his voice and vibrating in his chest and- god _dammnit_. “I. I didn’t even know I could do this. What the _fuck.”_

Claire laughs, which makes everything worse, and Jim only peeks out between his fingers as she sniffles wetly. Claire is wiping her face, using her hoodie sleeves. She’s smiling, just a little, and- okay. Maybe the horrendous embarrassment of _purring_ , Jesus Christ, has done an amount of good.

“Sorry,” Jim mumbles, ashamed anyway.

“What? No, Jim, it’s adorable,” Claire says, reaching up and taking his hands away from his face. Even though he knows she can barely see him in the dark, Jim still feels exposed right now, trying to shove yet another of the weird changes in his body back into the box it popped out of.

“It’s not adorable,” he says.

“Oh, but it really is,” she insists.

Jim shakes his head, making a dissenting sound- which gets mixed up with the purring he can’t seem to _stop_ and it all comes out even weirder, god, it’s so freaky. He’s such a freaky weirdo, why is Claire even interested in him anymore.

She just giggles fondly, running her thumb over Jim’s three knuckle bones. Jim’s vicious embarrassment about himself, about what he’s become… he can ignore it, for now, because she’s here, she needs him, and Claire wants him to be hers even if he’s become a walking horror show.

Jim becomes slowly aware, as Claire and he hold gazes, that he’s had her sitting in his lap for the past few minutes. Jim’s ears flip upwards and he feels a different kind of embarrassment. It at least stops the purring, finally, thank god.

“Are- are you feeling better?” he asks, trying not to let his nerves about _girls_ and _Claire_ and _Claire who is his girlfriend_ _is sitting in his lap right now_ strangle his voice worse than the purring did.

Claire averts her eyes, smile disappearing. She tucks her hair behind her ears, prolonging the wait for her answer.

“I’m fine,” she says, not looking at Jim. “I’m sorry I woke you. I- I can handle the nightmares, usually.”

“Claire- Claire, I’d _want_ you to wake me up if you got a nightmare like that,” Jim says earnestly, taking her hands. “That was- have you had more than just this one? Ever since…?”

“Morgana,” Claire says in a hushed voice.

“Since then?”

She nods reluctantly.

“Claire- that was _months_ ago. And you didn’t… tell me?” Hurt laces through Jim abruptly. That Claire has been- scared and sleepless because of her own memories, dealing with that alone. She didn’t come to him about it.

Why?

“I- I didn’t need to,” Claire says, fast and firm. “They’re just dreams. They’re just- memories, fucked up by sleep.”

“…Those didn’t sound like ‘just dreams’.” Claire won’t meet his eyes as he says that, guiltily quiet.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she says. Claire doesn’t look fine; her voice is strained, her posture is defensive- she’s not scared anymore, but she’s not herself, either.

“You don’t gotta be,” says Notenrique, reminding them of his presence. He does a purposefully lazy scratch of his neck as they both look at him, straining the kid’s size pants Claire gifted him a while back as he uses his right leg to do it. “Look, kiddo- you got the Trollhunter an’ all’a his allies on your side. I don’t advise gettin’ soft an’ weepy often, but fuck if this ain’t a situation where you could an’ not end up worse off for it.”

“Is-” Jim blinks. “Is that a compliment to me and-?”

“Shut up, not talkin’ to you. Claire, sis,” Notenrique puts down his leg and moves closer, reaching over to Jim and Claire’s still joined hands and grasping Claire’s wrist, “the Morgana thing was fucked up. Fucked up and dangerous. But don’t let it make you think you ain’t gonna be safe, now. You got me to watch your back, an’… this ugly mug, too, I guess.”

“Hey,” Jim protests, but doesn’t refute Notenrique’s comment on his appearance any further than that. (It’s true, anyway.)

The changeling ignores him, eyes only on Claire. Jim sees Notenrique’s scruff quivering, his ears straight up- he looks as protective of Claire as Jim feels.

 _Kin,_ Notenrique called Claire. Jim is starting to sense that the term is more meaningful than he would have thought.

“…I know,” Claire says, pulling one of her hands from Jim’s and taking Notenrique’s. “I never doubted that, and- you know I trust you both to watch out for me. Always.”

Notenrique does a full body twitch, pupils blown in the dark and fixed on Claire. Jim can feel a tension, one that maybe Claire can’t, and it nearly restarts the thrum inside his chest.

 _She trusts them_ , trusts them both to keep her safe. Waking and sleeping, even if nightmares come. Claire, however unintentionally, let them see her crumple under the weight of her trauma and- that settles like a new responsibility in Jim. She was vulnerable, and she let him hold her until she recovered, and he’s feeling a tingle of pride for that.

She trusts him. It feels- indescribably good to hear it said out loud.

Jim feels something molten and liquid like in him, so, so happy that Claire is letting him- and Notenrique- have this moment of her, this part of her. He can’t stop himself from leaning down again, pressing his face to her hair.

“ _Of course,”_ he says, promises, _swears_. “Of course I’ll watch out for you.” Of course, of course, of course. How could he do anything else?

“I know,” Claire replies, a hand coming to rest on the back of Jim’s neck, and he shivers all over for the touch. “Thank you.”

Jim forces himself to drag his thoughts back together after a moment, shaking off the fog that’d moved into his head briefly. He sits up again. “Do you, uh. Want a glass of water, or… something else?”

“No, but thanks anyway,” Claire says, shaking her head. “I… think I’d just like to go back to bed. I’m tired.”

“Oh, okay,” Jim says, and then doesn’t move. Neither does Claire, or Notenrique.

“Ugh, you kids- just make a pile on the floor already,” grouches the changeling, breaking the moment. Which. Makes the most sense, honestly, since neither of them seems to really want to separate to their own beds again. Briefly, they do separate, if only because there’s promise of reuniting the sooner they do so.

Jim is embarrassed to pick up his sleeping bag and find the fabric torn at the zipper. And it’d taken a whole afternoon for his mom to find one big enough for him at the store. He’ll have to stitch it up later, and hope Claire doesn’t notice the tears.

Claire’s sleeping bag is rolled out and her blankets taken off the small mattress of her bed. There’s plenty of barrier between them both still, but lying down on Jim’s rug dragged to the center of the room- it still satisfies the need to be close, and feels… so calming.

For Jim, at least. To have Claire within reaching distance, even with Notenrique curled in his own pile next to Claire’s head, it’s- it’s the ill-fitting piece slotting into place. The human nervousness of having his girlfriend sleeping so close fades away, leaving only the pleasure Jim’s new self derives from this.

He thinks he’ll be a little unsettled by that later, but that’s future Jim’s problem. Right now, he’s just happy.

“Claire… next time you get a nightmare like that,” Jim says, once they’re all settled, “you’ll talk to me about it, right?”

Claire turns her head towards him, dark hair splayed on her pillow, the same color as her eyes. In the dim of the room, not even Jim’s night vision can see the true colors; just seeing inky blackness where there should be brown.

Claire is… so pretty. Even tired out and recovering from a panic attack.

She smiles at him, soft and affectionate. “Next time,” she whispers, sitting up a little and leaning over Jim. He holds very still, feeling her hair brush his face as she comes closer.

Claire’s lips touch his, and then linger, pressing firmer. Her nose touches Jim’s as she draws back, and the feeling of her breath ghosting his face makes his insides tremble.

Then, Claire shifts so her forehead is against his, and Jim feels like a wave of warmth floods through him. He blanks, off-guard and sucking in a sharp breath.

“If I need to, I’ll talk to you next time,” Claire says, still so very close, words only half heard through the overwhelming fog in Jim’s mind. He possibly manages to reply an assenting noise, but it maybe gets lost in translation as he blinks rapidly, at a loss of how to even think anymore.

And then- Claire moves away, taking the overwhelming sensation with her and releasing Jim. He- doesn’t even know what he’s feeling; breathing hitching and wanting to pull Claire back and have her do that again.

It… it was just a forehead touch, what the hell.

Claire is already settled in her blankets again, turned away from Jim. He resist rising up and over her, pressing close again, maybe kissing, maybe just pressing their foreheads together- he wants more of whatever that was. It was- it was the most he’s felt while they touched since. Since.

Since he became part troll.

Jim silently groans and twists to push his face into his pillow. And there’s the explanation. It’s a weird troll thing. Now he definitely can’t disturb Claire; how’s he supposed to reasonably explain that her _putting their foreheads together_ , of all things, has just turned his insides into melted jello?

Jim raises his head, and notices someone glaring at him. Notenrique has burrowed again into his pile of clothes, only the tips of his ears and the glow of his eyes visible. He’s clearly not pleased to have witnessed what just happened.

Jim wrinkles his nose at the changeling and turns onto his side, facing away. It’s not like he _planned_ for that to happen. (He desperately wants it to happen again, right now, please.) It’s not his fault, it’s-

Claire’s. Claire, who can’t _ever_ find out what that did to him, and, as Jim recalls it, can’t ever see him start _purring_ again, god. Current extenuating circumstances notwithstanding.

Jim will let this be the single time either of those things happened, because it made Claire feel better, and that’s the priority over Jim’s discomfort with himself.

He stares blankly into the darkness for a while, unwillingly going back to the warm, comforting, encompassing sensation of- of _that_ , of what Claire did, until worrying his lip and trying to force himself to sleep isn’t enough. Jim turns over again, and moves guiltily closer to Claire’s sleeping form.

She’s at his eye level like this, the way they’ve set thing up, and- he likes that. Likes not feeling so much bigger than her. Almost like they’re near the same size again. Jim slowly closes the distance between them until he can lay his head near Claire’s, achingly aware of her bare neck turned his way, next to his mouthful of sharpened teeth- and that’s so weird to be aware of, awkwardly and terribly weird, but he can’t _not_ be.

He also can’t stop the resurgence of pride, that she trusts him, Claire trusts him to sleep so close and watch her back and _be there_ for her. That’s important to him. Incredibly, stupidly important to him.

Jim thinks he’s going to lie awake all day like that, stuck in a swirl of strong but almost wholly unfamiliar feelings, all leading back to Claire, but before he knows it… Claire’s even inhales and exhales coax Jim’s into matching their pace, and his eyes slip shut.

He rests deeply and soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i say sweet and fluffy? i think i meant sweet, fluffy, and then suddenly hurt/comfort angst. :3c


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha
> 
> wow it's been 80 years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i ain't dead yo, but i am so sorry.
> 
> i signed up for a big bang comp with a different fandom ([which you can read the massive fic for here, if you're into that new tmnt series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798222/chapters/39428026)), and it essentially devoured my entire life for a few months there. but!! fear not, Adjustments (and my other unreleased TH aus) were always in my heart and daydreams. if anyone is still with me, gimme a holler in the comments.
> 
> also i swear after this chapter i'll try to do more than hyperfocus on jim interacting with changelings

Jim wakes against his will, not wanting to leave the peace of sleeping behind just yet. But, whatever it is that’s dragging his consciousness back to reality, it won’t stop bugging him.

He groans softly, huffing at the tickling hair in his face. Blinking slowly, he opens his eyes.

He’s halfway onto Claire’s pillow, their bodies practically pressed together. He can feel her heat through the blankets and the rise and fall of her chest. Claire’s dark hair is what’s making his nose itch slightly.

Jim doesn’t quite _blush_ anymore, but he sure makes a good effort of trying to.

Claire shifts in her sleep, curling deeper into her blankets. Jim raises himself up a little, peeking to see if he’s woken her up. He hasn’t, since her eyes are still shut tight… but her expression in her sleep is somewhat tense, uncomfortable.

Jim is still a little sleepy, so it takes him a few moments to realize he’s probably making her cold.

Right. Stony skin. No human heat. Him sleeping so close to her has probably been sapping the warmth her body is trying to produce.

Jim’s ears press back against his head, and he moves away from Claire’s sleeping body. He doesn’t feel sleepy anymore; just once again mad at himself for forgetting the changes to his body. Prolonged cuddling can be counted out, looks like.

Besides, there’s the faintest sound of footsteps moving around outside the room and he wants to check it out. Jim unzips his sleeping bag all the way and puts it over Claire’s blankets, silently apologizing for disrupting her rest in the first place. She doesn’t wake, remaining unconscious, and Jim is grateful for that.

Notenrique’s eyes open briefly inside his pile, and Jim spares a vague wave at the changeling. Notenrique doesn’t respond in any way, just closing his eyes again.

Jim creeps out of Claire’s room, brushing aside the curtain sealing it off and sticking his head out into the hallway. There’s a faint amount of light coming from around the bend to the main room, and he hears the noise of tip-toeing steps again.

The steps are too light and precise to be Blinky’s, and Jim’s suspicions are confirmed as he rounds the corner and sees Nomura. She freezes, eyes whipping to him, and they both stand stock still for a few beats.

“…Hi,” Jim whispers, shaking off the stillness. “Didn’t meant to scare you.” Or scare himself, whoops.

“…You didn’t,” Nomura says, one ear twitching in agitation. Her claim is a blatant lie to them both, but Jim doesn’t call it out.

He instead moves his eyes to her swords across her back, and a morsel of last night’s dinner in her hands. “Are you leaving already?” he asks, a little put-out by that.

“I do have a _job_ , little Gynt,” Nomura says snidely. “And… it would be best that I visit my cave while it’s unguarded.”

Oh, yeah. That’s the whole reason Nomura slept here in the first place- her home got busted up by assholes Jim still wants to track down and give a talking to. Jim makes a split second decision and says, “Well, I’m coming with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I totally am.”

“No, you are _not-”_

“Already going and getting on pants, too late now.”

Jim hears a very frustrated hiss behind him as he hurries to his room. He dresses quick as he can, tucking the amulet into his pocket like always. When he comes back, Nomura is still standing in the room, tapping a hoof with her arms crossed.

“Well?” Nomura says impatiently. “Are we going or not?”

Jim tries not to laugh at the abrupt turn around. Maybe the changeling finally is starting to understand that he’s not going to take no for an answer on these matters.

 

-/-

 

Jim’s slowly begun to learn the rhythms of troll society. What times of the night and day everything happens at. For example, it’s only been about five or less hours since he went to sleep, and majority of the market is still slumbering.

He’s not as tired as he should be, running on such little rest time, but that’s another thing he’s discovered. Some trolls will sleep for short periods of the day, needing less than a human, and then be up for hours after that. Others just plain don’t sleep for days on end- like Blinky didn’t, the first few weeks of setting up the new market. After a point, however, those trolls will retreat to sleep for a long while, storing up energy to restart the cycle.

Jim only learned all that _after_ he found Blinky comatose on the floor. It’d been really confusing that his panicked requests for help were met by nonchalant variations of “ _Oh, so he finally went to sleep?”_

The more you know, right?

New Troll Market is about as quiet as it ever gets, only a few trolls still up and about. Light crystals are dimmed, shops closed down- the calm ambience of a sleeping population is pleasant. Jim doesn’t break the silence of it while they walk; just trailing Nomura at a respectful distance and keeping his ears open for trouble. She finishes her small breakfast as they go, and Jim does the same with his. The leftovers of the green-pink vegetables make a decent light meal.

The neighborhood of the market she’d been living in is on the outskirts. The caves here are largely unoccupied, and the paths still rocky and uneven. Nomura probably picked this place because she thought she’d be left alone as long as she kept to herself.

That didn’t work out, clearly, because the mouth of her small cave is covered in claw marks and something that smells foul. Jim’s lips curl without his consent, a hostile growl budding in his throat as the liquid drying on the rock fills his senses. He doesn’t want to touch whatever that is, and its message is obvious: _You’re unwelcome._

Nomura stands in front of the ruined entrance, scoffing under her breath. “Trench’s holly? That wouldn’t even ward off vermin.”

She steps over the splashes of liquid, not glancing back as she shoves aside the tattered cloth in the entryway. Jim hesitates for a moment, still put off by the smell, but then holds his breath and hops over the puddles.

Inside isn’t much better off. Scars along the sides of the wall have ruined whatever work Nomura put into smoothing them, dust and shards collecting on the floor underneath the rock’s wounds. Jim rounds the single corner into the heart of Nomura’s home, and feels his breath catch in his throat.

There are torn up pillows and carpets on the floor, what few of them Nomura had. Her basket she’d kept food inside of is crushed, its contents and cooling crystal meeting the same fate as their container. The small bag Nomura had brought with her from Arcadia is in shreds in a corner, emptied of possessions. Wherever Nomura had tried to personalize her space, it’s been torn down.

Jim’s fists curl, and he fights not to let anger swell out of control in him.

“I’m so sorry,” he bites out, horrified that anyone would do this. Nomura hasn’t done anything but _help_ the market since she joined them. She fought and nearly died on behalf of every troll living here.

And this is how they repay her.

“Don’t be,” Nomura replies coolly, “none of this was your doing. I can just replace it.”

“That’s not the point. This- this shouldn’t have happened.”

“It doesn’t matter. They didn’t get this.”

Jim looks towards her, and sees his friend kneel beside a wall. Jim spots the blackened markings of fire on stone, and moves closer to see why. At the center of the large scorch mark, there’s a little dark wooden box barely a foot long. It’s untouched, unlike everything else in the room.

“What is it?” Jim asks curiously, happy that at least one of Nomura’s possessions has survived the ransacking.

“None of your business,” Nomura says without any real snappishness, lifting the box off the stone floor with care. Her claw traces the single bit of decoration the box has on its lid- a black stylized branch curling in a circle. She opens the lid briefly, letting Jim get a glimpse of something shiny inside.

Then, she shuts it again, and stands up. “I have what I need,” Nomura announces, “we can go now.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Jim follows her out, casting one last glance back at the cave’s wrecked interior. The bitter anger and stunned offense that the trolls living in this neighborhood did this to Nomura… it’s not going to be something he easily lets go.

But that’s a matter for later.

“So where’re we going now?” Jim asks as they leave the cave. He resists holding his nose as they step over the ‘trench’s holly’ in the doorway.

“ _I_ ’ _m_ going to work,” Nomura says pointedly.

“Ahuh. With your box?” He watches the frown Nomura has; fairly positive it’s not a truly annoyed one. “You can leave it with us while you do, you know. We’ll keep it safe.”

“…As long as no one touches it,” Nomura says grudgingly.

“I promise no one will touch it,” Jim says. Then, he pauses to consider a certain someone. “Well, I can promise Claire and Blinky won’t touch it. I dunno if I can do much about Notenrique.”

“If he has any sense in that skull of his, he won’t.”

Jim hums. “He does seem kinda edgy around you…”

“For good reason, but that’s not just why he shouldn’t touch it.” Nomura strokes the lid of the box, smiling so briefly Jim nearly misses it.

He presses on with a question he’s been harboring. “It has something to do with the burn marks back there, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Nomura answers cryptically.

“…If someone other than you touches the box, something with fire happens.”

“Perhaps,” she repeats.

“Huh. Scary but effective security.”

“It’s not called a scorch box for nothing.”

Jim wants to ask about the symbol on it, or what’s inside, or why Nomura has it. But, he figures that holding off those questions would be a wiser choice. He wouldn’t want to undo the progress he’s made with Nomura by pestering her (more than he already has, anyway).

Nomura’s mysterious little box is brought back to Blinky’s cave, set carefully in Jim’s sleeping nook. As Nomura gets ready to depart again, Jim lingers outside of his own room, glancing down the hall towards where Claire still sleeps. He hesitates.

Oddly enough, he hears Nomura slowing to a stop. She sighs loudly.

“Just ask and get it over with.”

Jim rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, chuckling in embarrassment. “Could I… could I come with you? I don’t really wanna go back to bed.”

He’s got a lot of mixed up feelings from a few hours ago, still. About himself, about everything that happened yesterday… Jim doesn’t want to just lie awake in his sleeping bag trying not to think too hard about that stuff. He wants to be active, occupy his thoughts with something. He’d otherwise go help out around the market wherever he could, but everyone is still sleeping. Which leaves tagging along with Nomura.

Nomura sighs again, even louder, and starts stalking out of the cave. Jim follows a little ways, unsure about the answer. He’s stopped at the end of the hallway to the bedrooms when Nomura turns around, standing between the stacks of boxes with an annoyed expression.

“Don’t dawdle,” she says shortly, and turns around again to keep going.

Jim smiles wide. He quickly hurries after her.

 

-/-

 

“So… where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Jim aims a brief scowl at the back of Nomura’s head. She’d led him to a tunnel on the western edge of the market, and Jim had followed her down without much thought. He somewhat regrets not questioning further what Nomura’s ‘job’ is, considering the tunnel has gotten steeper and rockier as they go. It’s just about vertical, now, and it’s taking a lot of concentration not to slip on weirdly slick stones.

Nomura hops around easily, hooves clacking in the semi-darkness as they descend. They’re far from the warmth of the Heartstone, now, and all the other crystals that light New Trollmarket’s cavern. There are only thin threads of crystal through the tunnel’s walls, like little blue lightning bolts frozen in time.

If Jim were still human, he’d be half blind with just that light to see by. But he’s not human anymore, is he?

Not with the way his balance catches him before he can slip, or with how his toes grip the rock as much as his hands do, dexterous and strong. It’s still a rough climb, but Jim suspects that’s only because he’s never been down this way before.

His nails drag against stone as he nearly slips again, digging into the handhold he makes for himself. Jim blows out a harsh breath, frustrated and slightly shaken. “I’d _really_ like come clarification, though, since I could fall to my death doing this. No big deal or anything.”

“This fall wouldn’t kill you,” Nomura says in a distinctly amused voice. “Your skull is far too thick for it.”

“Oh _ha ha,_ very funny.”

That actually earns him a titter of laughter from the changeling, so Jim is both proud and offended.

The steep descent doesn’t last _too_ much longer, thankfully. Jim was getting worried about how much longer he could keep up with the increasing slickness of the rocks. A few more minutes of seemingly endless climbing, and suddenly the tunnel evens out again. Something is thrumming through the air, now, like a low rumble, continuous and growing louder.

Nomura is ahead of him still, so he doesn’t get a chance to ask what the noise is. Jim drops down the last twenty feet, landing in a roll and coming up in a crouch. He sighs, relieved to be on horizontal ground again.

“Keep up,” Nomura chides, already a few paces down the tunnel, “I won’t wait for you.”

“You’ve made that very clear!” Jim calls after her. He stands, ignoring how comfortable it’d been to sit like that, and jogs after the changeling. There’s something bright at the end of the tunnel, casting Nomura’s figure into shadow, and as he reaches it, Jim has to stop. Breathless.

A great swell of water is writhing along the _ceiling._ Like an enormous snake, it’s twisting and shifting in the air of the large cavern- the end of the tunnel Jim’s come from at its side, and its two ends disappearing each way, too long to see the end of.

“Oh my god,” Jim says, unable to take his eyes off the impossible phenomena. “Wh- Nomura, what is that?”

“One of the few truly magical occurrences left in existence,” Nomura says, standing a few feet away, looking up at the floating river like it’s an everyday thing. “There used to be more, but they were dying out even before I was hatched.”

“Why?”

“Why else? The same reason everything in history happened. Because of humans.”

Jim casts a confused look her way, but Nomura is already starting to walk again. He glances at the thousands of gallons of water suspended above them, a little suspicious of its safeness, but follows anyway.

“This is a river that encircles the entire earth,” Nomura explains, unprompted for once. She picks her way around the smooth stones of the river cavern’s floor, taking delicate steps with her hooves. “It flows through different passages with semi-regular frequency. Humans have discovered it only a few times- most thought it was a spontaneous water source, a few thought it was a god’s work. I liked that Norse interpretation, the one about the world snake. Very creative, that one. Still not right, though.”

“Where did it come from?” Jim asks, staring at the river above their heads again. Droplets fall here and there, cold against even his skin. He flicks an ear in irritation as water hits it.

Nomura scoffs. “Like I would know. And Blinkous won’t know, either. It’s been here far longer than troll civilization has been, that’s for sure.”

“So no one knows? Has anyone ever _tried_ to find out why there’s zero gravity water under the earth?”

“Ask that wizard of yours. If you can get a straight answer out of him.”

Jim grumbles. “I don’t know where he is.”

“And I doubt he’ll tell you until he feels like it,” Nomura says, smirking. “His kind is always like that, so tread carefully.”

That gives Jim pause. “Excuse me, ‘his kind’?”

“What, you didn’t think he was _human,_ did you?”

“Well…”

Nomura shakes her head. “He’s as human as the Pale Lady, as any being like them. He might look like a human, but… we both know that not everything is what it seems, don’t we?”

Jim nearly sighs. Nomura is right about that. There’s a whole list of things in his life that have turned out to be lies or illusions. Why not add the incredibly powerful and now incredibly absent crazy wizard to said list?

“Now stop asking questions and start keeping yourself sharp,” Nomura instructs, ears twitching and picking up her pace.

“Why?” Jim asks. “What’re we doing?”

“Keeping an eye out for the competition.”

“The- what?? Nomura, why’re we d-” Jim cuts off, catching a glimpse of something moving quickly in the water overhead. “Uh, shit, Nomura there’s-”

The big shape in the water abruptly bursts outwards, a maw of sharp teeth coming towards Jim so fast he can barely react in time.

There’s a blur of movement and light and then the hot spray of blood. Jim stands frozen, Daylight in his hands and his armor encasing him. Whatever attacked him now lies in two rough halves on either side of him, puddling blood on the smooth stones and his feet.

Jim inhales raggedly, every nerve electric. He’s in the armor. He’s fine. He has Daylight, he’s okay. (What if he can’t get out of the armor? What if he can’t put Daylight down? _What if-)_

A quiet scoff makes his eyes snap to up ahead- spotting a pink figure in the shifting light of the faintly glowing river.

“Sloppy work,” says the pink figure, a curved blade hanging casually in one of her hands. “You’re getting out of shape, Trollhunter.”

Her words are difficult to understand at first, his brain slowly processing them. (Another enemy? Another threat? Who-)

Jim finally breaks out of his weird foggy state as Nomura’s teasing smile slips.

“I- would’ve appreciated the head’s up,” he manages to say, forcing his voice level, “about- whatever this is.”

“An eel,” Nomura supplies.

Jim risks a glance at the dead thing, and has to whip his eyes up again before he feels sick- so much blood, so much gore, his opponents have always been _dust and stone_ when he-

“Why is an eel bigger than _me_ down here?” Jim says, swallowing the memories and _very purposefully_ stepping over the halves of the eel, walking towards Nomura. He will not look back at the red footprints he’s leaving, he _will not._

“They’re some of the predators that live in the river,” the changeling replies. “They’re our competition for today’s catch.”

Jim doesn’t respond. He’s still trying to breathe through the disgust of the wetness he can feel on his cheeks- cooling quickly and starting to itch. He wants to will away the armor, restore it to amulet form and get rid of the gore covering him…

But he can’t. His heartrate won’t slow down; his grip on Daylight tight enough it hurts his fingers. This is the first time he’s worn the armor in- in _weeks._ He hasn’t needed it; the new market has been peaceful. The amulet has just been sitting in his pocket and glowing now and then, sleeping, resting like Jim has been.

The armor had felt like a second skin at times, back in Arcadia. So why does he feel like he’s suffocating right now?

He takes an open mouthed inhale to calm himself, then struggles between disgust of the blood in the air, and the subtle notion that maybe it’s not _that_ bad smelling…

Jim shakes his head, trying to make sense of his thoughts. He’s fine, he’s okay, he doesn’t have to keep breathing like he’s just been sprinting. The less he breathes, the less he has to taste the bloody scent everywhere on him.

“We’re not too far, now,” Nomura is saying, and Jim realizes he’s been continuing to follow her without really noticing. Her eyes are aimed forwards and he feels grateful for it; his control over his irrational panic is still tentative. It’s slow going to restore order in his head, the mixture of memories and instincts, new and old, pushing against one another.

The armor is heavy. It’s never been heavy before.

“Hold on,” Nomura says, and abruptly vanishes.

Jim’s eyes miss her leaping forwards, but he catches the tail end of Nomura rebounding off the side of the tunnel and swinging her curved blade through the air. The head and tail of another giant eel are parted, and both fall to the ground with dull thuds, accompanied with terrible wet noises.

Nomura lands lightly on her feet, flicking her long hair out of her face.

Jim, meanwhile, tries not to stare at the dead eel. Breathing is hard right now.

He’s starting to really, really regret having come along with Nomura, no matter how tangled and bored his thoughts would’ve been otherwise.

Nomura is already forging on ahead, so Jim closes his eyes briefly to center himself. He thinks of how he’s managed to survive through the last year; how he survived countless battles, a hostile alternate dimension, and the near apocalypse of earth.

He brings up the memories of how he’d started to think, living in the Darklands. The calm acceptance of what he had to do while he was there in order to survive, the understanding that he might not live through the night, but still maintaining the determination to do so. For his friends, for his family. There wasn’t room for second guessing himself, out there, nor was there room for him to falter and shy away.

It’s just an eel. It attacked him, he killed it- that’s just how the world works. He’s with a friend. Nomura invited him along for her job, he can’t disappoint her by asking to go back. The amulet chose _him_ , (Merlin chose him), the armor is something he should wear with pride. He’s far past the point he could turn back.

Jim feels the last of the suffocating feeling in his throat release, ease in his movements returning.

His head is quiet again, and the smell of blood in the air no longer bothers him. Jim starts walking to catch up with Nomura, placing Daylight’s weight across his back and carrying it without effort.

He doesn’t comment on the fact that while she could have left him behind, Nomura didn’t go further than a few paces ahead. Jim just accepts the silent gesture of patience as the subtle kindness it is.

 

-/-

 

They reach a point in the tunnel where a walkway rises along its side- wide enough that one point of it forms a natural balcony. Nomura leads them up onto it, and Jim glances up at the flowing river, checking for more eels. No others have bothered them yet, but he’s wary.

Nomura drags something across the outcropping, and Jim looks over to see her carrying a large net made of thick rope.

“Always keep a spare somewhere hidden,” she instructs him seriously.

“Uh, sure? Why do we need a net, though?”

Nomura gives him a bored stare. “If you haven’t put it together at this point, then there’s no hope for you.”

“Rude,” Jim huffs. He looks at the net, then up at the river. “Are we… fishing?”

“Give the boy a prize,” Nomura drawls.

“Again, _rude.”_

“Just get ready. We’re barely on time for this as is. And don’t fall into the water- if you get swept away to the equator, don’t expect me to come and bring you back.”

“How would I fall in the water, it’s on the _ceiling-”_

The river suddenly surges downwards, and though it’s a completely useless act, Jim draws Daylight on reflex and brandishes it at the oncoming water.

It thankfully doesn’t crash down on them and sweep him away to the equator- it’s just suddenly even _larger_ than it had been, water so close that Jim feels a fine mist falling on him. He’s still gaping at that when the next _really_ bizarre event happens.

It’s like an explosion of gold overtakes the water, dazzling and bright in the dim cavern.  Jim nearly has to shield his eyes at the light, the glow of whatever’s swimming in the river only getting brighter.

Nomura, in the corner of his eye, winds up and tosses the net- the knotted rope catching in the swift current of the water and snapping the tether taut. With a grunt and visible effort, Nomura throws her weight against it and hauls the net back out.

It bursts out of the water with a shower over them both, the captured bits of gold flopping and thrashing in their confines. Jim shoves his wet shaggy bangs out of his face, wiping his eyes and face.

“Oh wow,” he says, staring at the half a dozen large fish Nomura has just caught. “I bought one of those yesterday. Is this is where they come from?”

“Fishing in lakes and the ocean is too risky for most trolls,” Nomura says, dragging the catch backwards towards the tunnel wall. “Either they’re too heavy for a boat, or the fish aren’t around at night. This- river-” she bites out, taking heavy steps, “-is the most reliable source of meat we’ve got. Now stop standing there and make yourself _useful.”_

Jim hurries over and grasps the net’s edge, adding his strength to the cause. It’s not heavy to him, not between him and Nomura both, though the fish fighting the net make it a bit difficult.

When they reach the wall, Nomura reaches into a cranny and grabs a thick wooden cane with a club on its head.

“Hold them still,” she instructs him, and opens the net for the first fish.

Jim’s fingers are slick and slimy by the end of it, and there are several thoroughly dead fish piled up together. He doesn’t feel the discomfort of helping kill the animals he might have thought he would, and he doesn’t linger on that.

They repeat the process, tossing the net into the churning river, dragging it back down with a fresh catch of fish, and then hitting each one on the head to kill them. It’s wet and fishy smelling work, but Jim _enjoys it._ Not even having to dispatch two more attacking eels puts a damper on his mood. In fact- his armor fades away not long into the endeavour, once the eels are dealt with, and Jim takes a deep breath of the damp air.

He feels excited and alive, and it’s great.

It’s only by very polite begging that Nomura lets him try throwing the net by himself. Rope twists around his wrists and arms as he pulls the net down, toes digging into the rock against the force of the struggling fish. A grin twists Jim’s lips, fangs bared as he laughs and yanks the net free of the current.

The fish hit the balcony, wetly smacking against it. Nomura appears at his side to help pull the catch away from the edge, shoulder to shoulder with Jim as they do. He catches her eye for a moment, and her vibrant green sclera seems almost approving.

Pride glows in his chest, and Jim can’t help the warm smile stretching across his face.

Nomura looks away from him, but not before he sees her lips nearly twitch into a smile.

 

-/-

 

“So what do humans have to do with the whole… disappearing magic stuff?”

“Ask Blinkous. You’re his youngling, not mine.”

Jim rolls his eyes, craning his neck from where he lays on the ground to look at Nomura. She’s sitting primly on a small boulder, slicing bits of fish off and eating them. Jim is starting to get really hungry, but he’s making himself wait until he can actually cook the meat. He’s not… willing to let go that much, not yet.

“I just helped you catch like, fifty fish or something,” Jim says, possibly whining a little. “You could at least tell me a _little_ about that.”

“We caught thirty, don’t oversell yourself.” Nomura cuts away another strip of her fish’s side, popping it between her fangs and chewing briefly.

Jim stares at her, hard. Flatly. Accusingly.

“Ugh, fine. If you stop asking questions afterwards, I’ll tell you some of what I know.”

Jim rolls onto his stomach, comfortably propping his chin on his arms. With the shoal of fish long gone, the cavern has returned to relative peace. It’s just the slight danger of eels that are keeping him alert, however easily he and his friend can handle them.

“It wasn’t really something most changelings were supposed to care about,” Nomura starts. “It’s only the ones who were trained to specialize in pre-troll civilization magics that studied it. The ones who stood a chance of directly serving Morgana at the time. I heard stories, though.”

She stops to eat another sliver of fish meat. Jim doesn’t make a sound, quietly stunned that Nomura is willingly telling him about her past right now. The only thing she’s ever spoken about was her experience in an opera house.

“It was probably just propaganda,” Nomura cautions, eyes aimed away from Jim, “but trolls talked anyway. About how the growing power of the humans was shifting the natural balance of things- that mankind was driving the old ways into extinction just by existing. New beliefs, new thoughts, new discoveries- I don’t see how that would affect anything, but that was how the story went.” She rolls her eyes, and for a second her voice changes as she hisses fluidly, “A load of snake shit if you ask me.”

Jim laughs, a little startled. He’s never heard Nomura swear before. At her weird look, he explains, “The amulet… it translates Troll to English for me. I can understand what you just said, uh, even though it doesn’t sound like the language- dialect? Whatever the trolls in the market use.”

Nomura narrows her eyes, continuing in the voice that’s somewhat accented sounding to Jim’s ears, “How is that supposed to be possible?”

Reaching for the twinge he’d felt a few days ago, Jim gives a small smile. “Who knows,” he returns, and he’s pleased that his use of the language Nomura is speaking makes her eyes go wide.

“Don’t do that,” Nomura snaps, using plain English again.

“Why not? I thought you’d prefer it if we spoke in your-”

“It’s not mine.”

Jim’s smile slips away. Nomura’s tone is flat and forbidding.

“It’s not mine,” she repeats, quieter. Abruptly, Nomura stands up; flicking the small knife into its sheathe beside her swords on her back. “Get up. We’re done wasting time.”

She tosses her half eaten fish back onto the pile, stalking over to the cranny she’d had the club in and grasping two wooden poles. She tosses one at Jim, and he barely catches the thing from his awkward position. Thick hooks on rope jangle together on both ends, stinking like dead things.

“You hook them through the head,” Nomura says curtly, already starting on the stacked fish. Her movements have more sharpness to them than usual, a tightness to her frown.

Jim feels he’s overstepped another line with her. He hopes that isn’t going to become a trend for him; they’d been having such a fun time before he messed up, and he really wants them to get back to that. Jim gets off the ground, approaching the changeling knelt by the fish with careful steps.

“Sorry,” he says earnestly, though he wishes he knew specifically what he did wrong.

Jim thinks Nomura is just going to ignore him, the way she doesn’t answer for a long pause- but then she does respond.

“Just don’t do it again,” she says, and nothing more after.

“Okay,” Jim says, “I promise I won’t.”

He kneels down a short distance from her, on the other end of the pile, and watches closely how to properly skewer the fish with the hooks. Jim can’t quite catch the trick to it, until Nomura’s movements slow, taking a longer moment to finish with one than she should.

Jim gets it, after seeing the step by step. He gives her a grateful smile, for both the instruction and forgiveness. Nomura pretends to not notice, but Jim knows she sees anyway.

 

-/-

 

“God… I think the thing I miss most about home is _showers,”_ Jim gripes as they walk, wrinkling his nose at the overwhelming smell of fish. So, so much fish. “This is gonna take forever to get out of my clothes.”

“You showered in your clothes?” Nomura asks.

“I- what, _no_ , I meant-” He catches the teasing glint in her eyes and huffs. “Oh shut up, you know exactly what I meant.”

She titters at him, because the only things Nomura ever aims his way is scorn, scrutiny, and mockery.

…Well, not really. But _most_ of what she aims his way falls under those categories.

They’re at the end of their trek, at least. Or Jim hopes they are, since they’re pretty far into the market of the market (which is a funny sentence to think in his head). Whoever Nomura is fishing for has to be close by, right? _Right?_

Jim may have more stamina than he used to, but carrying a pole across his shoulders with swaying fish on either end is less than ideal. He’s more tired out by the lack of food in his stomach and the sheer fishy smell than he is by exertion.

He perks up, however, when he spots a familiar face in the sparse crowd around the market. Turik is turning to face their direction before he can call out, and-

Nomura steps ahead, taking lead and headed right for the fisherman.

“Turik,” she greets, and Jim is genuinely surprised that her tone is downright civil.

“Nomura!” greets the larger troll in return, smiling wide at her. “Quite the catch this morning, hm? And-” He looks over to Jim, laughing, “-you even managed to snag a little something extra. Trollhunter- good mornin’ to you.”

“Uh, morning,” Jim says, looking back and forth between his friends in confusion. “How do you two…?”

Nomura shrugs off her share of their load, handing it to Turik, and Jim puts two and two together finally.

“Oh,” he says to himself. Jim feels a bit stupid, not figuring it out sooner that the only fisherman he’s seen in the market so far is the one Nomura works for.

“I’ll be back with the eels later,” Nomura is saying, counting the small bag of coins she’s been given.

“Sooner than later, if you can,” Turik urges gently. “I’ve got three different trolls tryin’a till their plots today, and they won’t be happy to wait on their fertilizer.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll be sure to tell ‘em about the extra effort. They’ll be grateful for it.”

Nomura snorts derisively. “I somehow doubt that.” She cinches the little coin bag, nodding respectfully to Turik. “Thank you.”

“Ah, thank _you_ ,” Turik corrects with a chuckle. “Without you, my business would’ve been a lot hard to keep.”

Nomura doesn’t reply to the statement of gratitude, just sweeping away in a whirl of long black hair and sleek skirt. She’s gone before Jim can figure out a way to interrupt the weird colliding of what he thought were separate parts of his new life.

Turik turns his eyes to Jim and the fish he’s still holding. The scars across his purple skin make a lot more sense to Jim now, knowing about the whole _giant freaking eels_ thing that comes with troll fishing.

“C’mere, lemme take those already.”

“Um, thanks.”

Jim ends up hanging around even after Turik has taken the fish from him. Jim doesn’t really have anywhere else to be right now… or nowhere he _wants_ to be, anyway.

“She’s quite the character, huh?” Turik remarks as he hangs another fish.

“Nomura is definitely that,” Jim agrees, somehow having ended up holding the other fish… again. “I didn’t know you two knew each other, though.”

Turik hums, a small frown on his face. “I’ve gotten the sense my employee isn’t much for socializing. She only works hours trolls ought to be sleeping at.” He huffs. “Took me a full week just to get her to keep her eyes up when we’re talkin’. Never thought a changeling would be so skittish, considerin’ the stories…”

Jim tries to pair Nomura and the word _skittish_ together, and he largely fails. His friend is a lot of things, but fearful isn’t one of them.

“She just doesn’t like to be around people,” he says, tamping down on the slight defensiveness that wants to creep into his voice. “But she’s not- Nomura is really brave, she’s not skittish. You just haven’t seen her in action yet.”

Turik laughs. “I meant no disrespect to her, Trollhunter. I know better than most that any troll, impure or not, who’s willin’ to go fishing in the infinity river all on their own- well, they’re stupid, for one thing, but damn brave all the same. It’s risky business, dealing with what lurks in those waters.”

“So I gathered,” Jim mutters, recalling the splatter of eel against the rocks as he bisected it. He feels a sudden twinge in his chest at that memory, his easy control over his thoughts slipping without warning and nearly setting him off-balance.

Jim hurriedly shoves those thoughts away again, grasping for order in himself and blinking away the intrusive images. Turik doesn’t notice the slight hitch in Jim’s breathing, lasting all of the split second he experiences the first eel attacking him all over again.

“-doing my best, but sometimes you just gotta be patient,” Turik is saying, taking the last of the fish from Jim. “She’ll come around if she wants, an’ she won’t if she won’t. Long as Nomura keeps working hard, I’ll keep my nose out’ve her business.”

Jim thinks he’s missed a few things, but it doesn’t seem like it was anything too important. He just nods vaguely in agreement, and gives a quiet thank you for the handful of dried fish strips he’s given for his hard work assisting Nomura.

Jim ends up wandering away from Turik after that, eventually coming to a stop after he’s- at some point he can’t quite recall- jumped up on top of a roof of a newly built home. He sits slowly, tucking his legs close to himself and nibbling on the fish jerky. The Heartstone’s warm light fills the view in front of him, softly illuminating most of New Trollmarket. He traces the lines of its crystal, the sharp and smooth edges, the faint pulse its center seems to have…

Jim sighs, feeling tired and only somewhat satisfied with how his very early morning has ended. He had fun with Nomura, but he can already feel the returning emotions he’d pushed away while he was with her. Waking up next to Claire and realizing he was freezing her, that moment he couldn’t breathe in his armor, the sick queasiness of not being able to decide if he wanted to throw up as blood slipped down the side of his cheek or if he was tempted to _lick it-_

Jim rubs his cheek roughly. The eel’s blood is long gone. He can still feel it anyway.

The amulet is heavy in his pants pocket, and the dried fish in his mouth no longer tastes good. He decides to save it for later, standing up and taking a few running steps to jump from the roof.

 

-/-

 

Nomura hasn’t returned to her temporary home. And Notenrique is gone from his pile, which is a relief. Jim wants it to just be him and one other person, right now. Claire mumbles sleepily as Jim lies down on the carpet, returning to where he’d been just a few hours ago, back in his pajamas.

“Jim?” she asks, eyes opening blearily, heavy with sleep still. “Did you go somewhere…?”

“Yeah, just for a little while,” he replies in a whisper.

“How come?”

“I… was just out with Nomura, helping with her job. I’m all done now, though, and I think I’m ready to sleep some more.”

Claire mumbles something wordless and comforting, reaching out a hand from under her blankets. Jim hesitates briefly- he’s washed himself best he can, but his skin, it’s still-

Her fingers wrap around his before he notices he’s already reached out, and Jim relaxes at his girlfriend’s touch.

“Long as you come back,” Claire says softly, half asleep probably.

“I’m already back, Claire,” Jim says, huffing with a smile.

“Mmm… good… Don’t go again.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“’kay…”

She tugs on his arm, and Jim moves closer despite himself. Claire’s eyes are sliding shut again as he settles against the edge of her makeshift bed, the dark circles under them lighter than they have been. Jim feels better for seeing that, taking in Claire’s face as she rests.

“Did you know there’s a river that stretches around the whole world?” Jim says quietly, choosing that to focus on. It’s amazing, it’s boggling- he loves how impossible it is, even in the world he’s come to reside in. It’s the sort of thing he would have imagined for those daydreamed adventures he used to have.

“Mhm, sure.”

“And Nomura has friends besides us- or, one friend. Sort of. Turik wants to be friends, I think, but she won’t let him be.”

“Mhm…?”

“He seems like a really good guy. I… I think he’s the first troll I’ve ever met who doesn’t have a thing against changelings, even he called her impure, sorta. He’s even paying her to work for him, you know?”

“Hmmm…”

Jim chuckles quietly as he can at Claire’s drowsiness. Before he can decide against it, he moves close enough to press a soft kiss to her nose. His girlfriend’s face screws up, a little grumble coming from her.

“No kisses,” she mutters, “we’re… sleeping…”

The words bring back the memory of a sentence very similar, back to a night that feels like forever ago at this point. One that had them leaping and teleporting through the trees of Arcadia’s dense woods, carefree as they sparred and laughed. Jim would smile at that memory, but… that’d been during the last hours before he realized just what he’d really done. What he’d signed himself over to.

It’s all fun and games until you almost turn to stone in the morning sunlight, right? Or end up looking like a b-rated horror movie monster.

At least his friends stayed, despite those things. Claire is _here_ , all the way across the country, because she still cares about him… even as he is now. And even though Toby can’t be here, he’d said he still-

A striking pain of homesickness hits Jim, right then. He can’t finish those thoughts. He misses his best friend so much it hurts, right in his center.

Jim has to move away from Claire again, to take slow breaths and curl in on himself. She’s fallen asleep again, and Jim passes the time until he can, too, by shutting his eyes and trying to think about only good memories. Ones from well before the amulet or just after Claire joined their team. When the three of them could still be together in one place.

It’s hard, when even those are starting to be tainted by the feeling of loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, prior to writing this chapter: okay give them plot now bc they waited so patiently
> 
> my muse: did you mean vague about a bunch of nomura stuff and nothing else?
> 
> me: wh
> 
> my muse: :)
> 
> i tried and failed and now i SWEAR, we will do more than talk about nomura. i just. i love her so much. i can't help myself. i'm but a mere lesbean and she's _amazing_. i literally can't help myself bc canon never gave me enough of her.
> 
> what's the next chapter about? idfk. i have a bunch of plot points in my head and no idea how to get to them. i will do my damndest tho, since i wanna beef this fic up before the 3below series hits me with a baseball bat of new xeno curiosities to play with. oh, and i now have a [DISCORD SERVER](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fdiscord.gg%2FPBqStWv&t=MzkxZDhlYTE4MzIwMjg2MjRkODQxZDEzMmI0NzZmMWE0ZmI2YjJlNCxaaTNMZXNvZw%3D%3D&b=t%3AF-wa90Tij4jaMp7hiAUjeg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fonthespectrumwriting.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180852645418%2Fspectrum-discord&m=1) for people to come hang out at, since i don't trust tumblr to preserve my blogs/wanna interact more with the people who read my fics,,, click the link if you wanna join in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are so many names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i obviously lied about updating this more before 3below dropped. whoops.
> 
> *sticks crumpled gold sticker to myself* there was an attempt.

It’s sort of weird. How one moment time seems to be taking forever, and then just like that it’s speeding by. Jim doesn’t even realize how the days and nights are blurring together, filled with hard work and Trollhunter duties, until Blinky announces that in just a few days-

“The celebration will likely last a full night, and then through most of the day, if not all of it. It may very well last _two_ days! It would not be the first time in my experience that a troll party got out of hand.”

Blinky laughs as he says that, and goes on to talk about some of the parties he’s been to. Ones hosted by overclocked and high-strung scholarly sorts of trolls- who, which Blinky swears by, had very few compunctions about self-preservation after a point. There’s mention of passing around banned potions, spiked drinks- of the effects ranging from mild intoxication to permanent color change of body parts.

Blinky then tells Jim and Claire to _never_ do things like that, because they’ll apparently wake up the next evening with a headache fit to split a boulder.

They nod and say they won’t, though Jim already had little interest in drinking, and Claire, as it turns out, has enough experience to know how to pace herself.

“I sometimes forget you had an actual social life back home,” Jim says after Blinky’s let them go from evening breakfast- dinner? It’s hard to tell nowadays, Jim’s sense of time is so bad. They’re hanging out a little before they head out to keep pitching in with the rebuilding effort. They’re in Claire’s room (since Nomura is still in Jim’s), and he’s really quite happy to be reclining on their combined beds with his girlfriend (read: lying on blankets and pillows on the floor).

“And you didn’t have one?” Claire teases him. Her hair is still unbrushed and she hasn’t changed out of her pajamas yet. Jim thinks she looks very cute.

“Not really,” he answers her, moving closer to spoon her. She lets him and it’s _wonderful._ “I really only hung out with Toby, ‘bout as far back as I can remember. Neither of us ever got invited anywhere, and we didn’t invite other people either.”

Claire turns her head, fingers trailing up Jim’s arm. “Aw. You guys are great, though. I can’t believe that.”

Jim shrugs. “Well… it wasn’t something that really bothered me, honestly? I’m pretty happy just with you and Tobes.”

“You’re very friendly for an introvert, Jim.”

“It’s closer to just being polite and treating others how I’d like to be treated.”

Claire snorts and shoves her face against his chest. “ _Dork._ That’s so corny.”

Jim means to say _‘Well, it’s true’,_ but he feels a bubble of sensation in his chest start up and he has to focus on pressing it back down. Just because having Claire cuddled close is making him feel _really_ happy- if faintly embarrassed, because _girlfriend_ \- doesn’t mean he’s allowed to start purring. That’d just make everything weird.

Claire doesn’t comment on his sudden silence, or how Jim presses his face into her hair. She stays quiet, arm sliding around his torso to hug him close. For a brief while, it’s just the two of them all alone, and the calm space it makes in Jim’s head is something he’ll hold onto for the rest of the night.

After all, the memorial celebration is barely forty-eight hours away. With only the essentials fully set up- defenses, escape routes, running water to individual caves _finally-_ there’s going to be an insane amount of work to be done.

 

-/-

 

With small crops starting to really produce, and the river and forest each providing decent meat supply, rationing of food has grown to be less and less strict. They’re now at the point they can afford to indulge with the celebration.

Jim expects to be put to work somewhere with physically demanding jobs, but his skill with cooking has somehow made its way to the ears of others (he suspects Blinky, maybe Notenrique).

He certainly doesn’t complain about being handed an apron, a knife, and a bunch of vegetation to dice, mince, and peel. The trolls who’ve taken charge of the meals prep range wildly in personality- from strict and no nonsense to chatty and prone to laughter. Jim doesn’t realize until he’s halfway through his third stew prep that the menu planning was usurped from Blinky’s control nearly right away. The trolls running it are not ones to question, especially when it comes to cooking for the entire market.

Blinky still tries at least once to wrangle some control of things, to which Jim sees the tail end of. It’s mostly just Blinky being escorted away from the restaurant’s kitchen by the largest troll in it, his protests ignored by the hardened veteran chefs.

“I do not know why he tries,” mutters the troll as she returns, huffing. “He knows _nothing,_ nothing I say! Nothing of cooking at all.”

She glances at Jim as she passes, and Jim looks _up,_ meeting her gaze with a meek smile. She’d introduced herself as Gauldra when they met. Jim is pretty sure she’s taller than Arrrgh, with muscle to back that height up.

He’s surprised when she gives his head a rough pat. “ _You,_ though. You understand cooking well. You are welcome.”

Gauldra leaves without any further fuss, while Jim puts a hand to his mussed hair and feels confused.

“Oh ho, she likes _you,”_ laughs the troll peeling on the other side of the table from Jim. Herar’s snaggle-fanged smile is wide, but not unkind. “Gauldra never takes to younglings so quickly, so consider it an honor, Trollhunter.”

“Um, okay? Thanks.” Jim wonders just how old the market’s residents think he is, considering the differences in how trolls vs humans age. Most have been calling him a youngling, and he knows whelp is for babies… so hopefully they know he’s a teenager? Though, Jim doesn’t _feel_ like a teenager anymore, not in the sense his old classmates still are. It’s been just a short time since he started as the Trollhunter, but also… it feels like it’s been _ages…_

“Your stew is boiling.”

“Oh- shit, hope it didn’t burn-”

That’s how he spends the day prior to the memorial. Cooking, talking- and it’s nice. He hasn’t gotten to cook as much as he used to, and he learns new tricks and recipes through the experience. Trolls have a different opinion of what constitutes as tasting ‘good’, and to Jim’s surprise, nine out of ten times he finds himself agreeing with them.

Having a whole new palate is still weird and inconvenient at times, but it’s still a fun adventure to try broths, stews, and baked goods he never would have thought of himself.

He’s in that huge kitchen- belonging to Gauldra, the ringleader of things- through the night and almost into the day. Jim protests when he’s firmly kicked out as morning comes, but all that gets him is extra portions of food shoved into his arms, a round of chiding about him being a growing youngling and needing _sleep,_ and the assurance that they’ve all been doing this for hundreds of years. The market won’t burn down without him around for a few hours.

Jim is too flustered to refuse their insistences any further. He ends up hurrying home so the wrapped up meal is still warm when he gets there; presenting it to Claire for them to share, since he’s all cooked out and no one else has energy to make anything. (Well, Nomura might have, but she isn’t in Jim’s room and he hasn’t seen her around all night, so… no help from her.)

Claire is yawning when they get to bed, dark circles under her eyes and an exhausted slouch to her posture. She’s been telling him about her night, over dinner and as they lie down; about all the places she was told to balance on or climb into, hanging decorations and banners. Because she’s the only one small enough to do so, since everyone else is boulder heavy and not so inclined to delicacy.

Her fingers and knuckles have bandaids on them, and the gash on her forearm is only just healed over, shiny and pink still where a scar is forming. Jim can’t help the swell of emotion in his chest- Claire is so strong, so resilient- and he takes advantage of their privacy, getting his arms under Claire and bringing her in close against him.

She’s warm, and her amused chuckling makes his ears twitch. He pushes his face against her crown, soaking in how happy she makes him feel, the pleasant and comforting scent she has…

(Jim’s blankets and clothes have started to always have Claire’s scent on them, which he is more than perfectly fine with.)

Claire gives him a kiss goodnight. Jim kisses her back carefully- always, always mindful of his sharpened teeth- and guiltily wishes they could go back to cuddling.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. Jim spends most of the day staring blankly into the dim of the room. Claire’s breathing is an easy tempo to follow, lessening the anxiety he’s feeling. To an extent, anyway. He’s been using the constant activity to avoid letting thoughts linger, keeping his mind and body busy. But, now…

He can’t avoid it any longer.

Jim wakes to a small hand on his back, digits caressing briefly before they start shaking him. It’s time to get up. It’s the night of the memorial. There are a few more things to arrange and they have to make themselves presentable for it.

Jim almost admits aloud that he wants to stay in bed. He feels like he hasn’t had any sleep at all.

But, that would worry his friends. So Jim sits up, pulls his head together, and gets ready.

 

-/-

 

Jim debates wearing his armor. With humans, individuals in public service tend to wear their uniforms. The military, police, firefighters…

Jim doesn’t want to wear it, though. He only ever puts it on when someone is in danger. It’s not something he feels like he could properly explain to anyone, but wearing the armor feels like stating a threat. Maybe even a premise to violence. Like he’s standing in a crowd of civilians and holding a loaded weapon in his hands.

The armor is Jim’s mantle, his honorable position in troll society. He shouldn’t look at the amulet in his hands and think of terrible things. He’s meant to _protect_ with its power, to fight in the name of others’ safety… so it’s all the more ironic that his mind is associating so many negative things with it instead.

Jim ends up putting the amulet in his pants pocket, deciding to ask Blinky soon as he can. Jim leaves his indecisions to the side for now, moving to the main room of the cave to be with Claire and Notenrique. Claire is fussing with her hair, changing its style again every time she finishes putting it up. Notenrique is sitting on the table, as usual, and giving bored sounding comments when prompted.

Claire turns to him as he enters, looking a little stressed. “Jim? What do you think. Bun? Ponytail? Should I just leave it down?”

“I… think it looks nice with all of them?”

“Good answer, kid,” Notenrique chuckles.

Jim shrugs. “Well, it’s true.”

“Oh my god, neither of you are _any_ help!”

“Men of any species rarely are,” says a silky voice, a moment before Nomura slips out from the hallway behind Jim. Her inky black hair is still beyond long, but she’s pulled parts of it back into thin braids that twine together into thicker ones.

“Here,” Nomura says, approaching Claire and taking the brush from her hand. “Turn around.”

“Thank you,” Claire says gratefully.

Jim watches them, eyeing Nomura’s careful claws and deft brushing near Claire’s neck. For once, however, he doesn’t feel a sudden rise of protectiveness at someone being so close to Claire. If anything, it makes him happy to see Nomura initiating close contact.

Notenrique doesn’t quite share the sentiment, judging by his faint growl as Nomura braids strands of Claire’s hair. Jim goes and gets some leftover dried meat from their last grocery run, wordlessly offering the fish jerky to the changeling.

After a moment of stubbornness, the offering is accepted and Notenrique’s raised hackles calm down. Jim is happy to nibble on his own pieces while Claire’s hair is finished, enjoying the subdued chatter of their quartet.

“There,” Nomura says, dropping her hands. Claire’s hair is long enough now for a small bun at the base of her skull, with braids trailing to it from her bangs. Claire touches her hair lightly, smiling and thanking Nomura.

Jim sees a softer quality to Nomura’s expression as she waves off Claire’s gratitude, and he finds himself smiling as well.

At least until Claire turns on him with her hair brush in hand, stating he’s missed most of his scruff with his brief comb through. Jim protests- he might not have looked in a mirror, but it _feels_ fine to him- but he’s ignored and bullied into sitting down so Claire can get at his hair.

Notenrique laughs at him. Jim vows he won’t be giving the changeling any more jerky tonight.

“You can’t just run a comb through this anymore, Jim,” Claire scolds him gently, brushing the hair that’s grown down his neck. “Your hair’s thicker than _mine,_ I think. You have to take care of it or it’ll look like…”

Notenrique notices that she’s staring pointedly at him. “Hey now! I’ll have ya know that I take excellent care of my scruff!”

“And yet, it looks like a scrub brush.”

Jim takes a turn laughing at Notenrique. The changeling huffs and growls and bickers with Claire while Jim’s grooming is finished up. By the end of it, without really noticing, Jim’s sank down against the table with his head on his arms, heavy lidded and very comfortable. The strokes of the bristles through his hair had been rhythmic, lulling the previous anxiety he had to rest. Maybe if they’d done this yesterday he could have gotten a full day’s sleep.

“Don’t nod off on us, Jim,” Claire teases, fingers tousling his hair. She touches the base area of his horns, then down past his ears, and Jim barely swallows his purring in time.

Jim raises his head in time to see Nomura giving him a bland look, like he’s being ridiculous. He smiles at her, and chuckles when she flicks an ear and turns her head away, pointedly sipping her cup of tea and ignoring him.

Jim privately wishes they could just stay here all night, in this atmosphere of easy interaction and comfort, but that’s not possible. He, at least, _has_ to show up at the ceremony, and it would be rude for the rest of them to not come along.

Claire informs them it’s nearly time, so Jim yawns and leaves the vaguely sleepy state of mind he’s gotten into. Hopefully, they can have another early evening like this again sometime soon.

 

-/-

 

The whole market has turned out for the memorial. Jim and Claire have to carefully weave their way to the front of the milling crowds, respectful citizens stepping aside as the Trollhunter and his girlfriend pass by. Blinky is standing with a collection of wizened trolls near the covered monument; their talk hushed but animated.

Jim only gets a brief moment to ask Blinky if he should wear the armor. On the way here, Nomura and Notenrique had broken off from the group, and Jim and Claire ended up being snagged again and again to provide assistance to someone. They’re nearly late at this point, and Blinky can’t spare much time.

When Jim asks his question, holding out the amulet and keeping his voice controlled, he sees a brief emotion flicker through his mentor’s six eyes. It’s gone before he can parse what the emotion means.

“You can choose for yourself, Jim,” Blinky says, reaching and taking Jim’s hand. He curls Jim’s fingers around the amulet, patting Jim’s shoulder with his other hand. “Trollhunters in the past have had differing views of this sort of thing, and you are equally welcome to your own. Do whatever you feel is right.”

Jim nods, bringing his hand with the amulet close to his chest. Its blue glow peeks between his fingers, warm and cold at the same time.

“I… I think I won’t wear it. If that’s alright.”

“If that is what you want, Jim.”

Jim has a small lump in his throat as he nods again. “It is.”

Claire’s hand comes to rest on Jim’s arm, mirroring Blinky’s touch. Their combined support relaxes Jim’s internal conflict over his decision.

Blinky gives him a brief hug before sending them on their way, saying he’ll find them when the ceremony is over. A low drum beat has started to filter through the crowd’s noise, quieting conversations and drawing attention to the market’s leader. Jim and Claire take their place among everyone else, finding a spot with a clear view of Blinky.

The drum beat swells, growing to be thunderous. Other instruments join, a small orchestra of musicians in a semi-circle behind the monument and Blinky. More than half of them Jim doesn’t know the names of, due to them being of troll origin, but he doesn’t need to know those names to enjoy their music.

Troll music is much like trolls themselves. It’s heavy, it’s loud, it’s dramatic, and it only plays softer notes in subtle passes. Jim’s hand takes Claire’s as they listen, the tempo moving through their very bones. It’s like a storm, or a stampede- overwhelming and enormous. It fills the cavern right to its distant ceiling, and briefly it seems as though the Heartstone glows brighter as the crescendo peaks.

The song ends not long after that, leaving a wealth of silence in its wake. Blinky steps up to fill that silence.

“Troll brothers,” he begins, voice carrying through the air, “we gather here tonight to honor those who we have lost. The brethren who fought and fell in the invasion of our home. Though we could not save their bodies, their spirits will never be forgotten.”

Blinky gestures to two trolls standing by, and they pull the shroud from the monument. Its progress has been in public view for weeks, but the finished product is still breathtaking. The stone is glossy and black, and it towers over even the largest trolls of the market. Across its surface are names, etched into the stone with faintly glowing inlay.

There are so many names.

Jim feels his heart start to ache.

“…The war with Gunmar lasted generations,” Blinky states somberly, standing to the side of the monument. “Most of us were born during it, and those who were born before it were legacies of the previous wars. We have lost fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, entire clans and histories… but we persevered. And through that perseverance, we have lived to see the end of Gunmar and the Gum-Gums. To which we owe much of that victory to our brave Trollhunter.”

Jim feels eyes on him. He feels the weight of those gazes and their intent. He feels gratefulness for his actions, for the lives he saved- but he also feels the weight of the loss, of the lives he _didn’t_ save.

“But it was not a battle fought by a single warrior. No. This was a battle fought by an _army.”_ The end of Blinky’s staff hits the ground. “When we were called, we answered that call. We rose against Gunmar and the Lady Morgana and we _triumphed._ ”

But they lost some. They lost _so many_. Jim’s grip around Claire must be shaking, because she puts her other hand around his and squeezes tight.

“We have rebuilt and we will continue to rebuild. We have survived and we will continue to _thrive._ And tonight, we give thanks to those who made that possible. The bravest of us. The kindest of us. The ones whose spirits and sacrifice we will always, always carry with us.”

_Draal,_ Jim thinks, and something in him breaks. _Draal._ Someone who’d begun as an enemy, but became so much more than that. _Brother,_ Jim thinks, because friend isn’t enough.

Memories of Draal flood Jim’s mind, no longer able to hold them back. Of the teasing, the gruff care. The large, steady hands that showed Jim how to better hold his sword. The sense of true and strong honor that was a part of Draal’s very self; worthy enough that if it weren’t for Jim, Draal would have been the next Trollhunter. The kindness underneath all that, threaded through jokes and scolding and threats of playful roughhousing.

The memory of Draal giving his life for Jim’s, of the crystal cavern falling to pieces around them and Angor Rot’s enraged bellows - it’s lurked in the back of Jim’s mind all this time, and now, it consumes him.

“This memorial will stand here so long as our New Trollmarket does. It will honor each and every life we’ve lost. To the names inscribed on it, we give thanks. For the names inscribed on it, we give _celebration._ Tonight, we mourn. Tonight, we remember. Tonight, we celebrate the lives each of these trolls lived, and which will never be forgotten!”

The quiet of the market’s population is broken by a rising cry, a roar made by hundreds of voices in unity.

Jim’s rising cry isn’t a roar, but a wail. Lost in the wave of sound. Tears slide down his cheeks as his voice cracks, the agony of his failures ripping through his heart all over again.

They won. But they also lost.

They lost so many, and Jim should have saved them.

It’s only for Claire’s arms around him that Jim can stay standing, bearing the burden of his title and all the faith put in him.

 

-/-

 

Jim reins in his emotions before anyone else notices, thankfully. The clutch of grief remains inside him, though. Heavy and sharp. Time has already started to pass, but it still feels like it’s barely been a day since Draal died.

Claire’s presence by Jim’s side is a much needed and appreciated support. If it weren’t for the crowds, he’d stoop and wrap himself around her completely. Press in close until the jagged hurt in his chest dulled to something manageable again.

But, he’s already shown enough vulnerability in public tonight as is. Jim is just glad he’s not the only one covertly swiping at his eyes. Even some of the surliest of trolls are a little choked up; bravado set aside as the market’s community mourns together. With the speech portion of the ceremony over, individuals and families have started approaching the monument with offerings. Jim spies old weapons polished to shining, bundles of plants, and gemstone carvings, among other things.

Jim didn’t bring anything with him to offer to the names of the memorial, and he abruptly feels ashamed of that fact. He of all people, as someone with a direct hand in the events that played out- he should have brought something for them. To apologize properly.

Claire’s hand squeezes his, drawing his attention.

“Do you wanna go up?” Claire asks gently, nodding at the memorial stone.

Jim looks at the trolls all patiently waiting to visit the stone, and shakes his head. He should wait longer than they have to, since he’s not even related to any of the names on the memorial. Jim never even _asked_ Draal if it would be okay to…

“…I’ll go up in a bit,” Jim says, swallowing around the hoarseness in his throat.

“Okay,” Claire says softly, and doesn’t press the subject further. Instead, she leads him through the crowds to Blinky again, where Jim’s adoptive troll parent is plucking at the many strings of a complicated instrument.

“Ah, master Jim and miss Claire!” Blinky enthuses as they approach, giving a wide smile. “You’re both just in time to see me try my hand at the musical arts. I haven’t in decades!”

“You break my strumchella,” warns the troll with sharply jagged horns next to him, “and I will make you personally carve me a new one.”

“Truual, your lack of faith in my skills wounds me gravely.”

“Just play already, you old fool.”

Blinky scolds her for such rude words to the Trollmarket leader, but he does it while still smiling. Then, strumming with two of his hands, and using the other two along the neck of the long wooden instrument, Blinky begins to play.

It starts as a simple tune, but grows in complexity. Jim isn’t much of an expert on music, but he’d maybe say the strumchella sounds like a cross between a guitar and one of those thin Middle Eastern string instruments. With how many hands Blinky has to play with, the number of notes he can play at any one time is triple that of everyone else.

It’s beautiful. And one by one, a handful of lingering musicians join in with their own instruments. Soon enough there’s an impromptu encore happening right in front of them, though one less dramatically loud than its predecessor.

Though the performance captures the attention of almost everyone, Jim finds his eyes wandering. They’re drawn back to the stone, not far from where they stand. Many trolls have left by now, headed off to start the celebrations or join in with the musical entertainment.

A few remain, though, and Jim recognizes a particular family of trolls.

He sees the two little orange siblings, Scry and Dres, and their parents; all four of them standing back from the monument. Jim follows where they looking to, and finds a solitary green figure standing at the base of the stone.

Ty puts a hand on the glowing names of the black stone, and with the pained expression showing on the kid’s face, Jim finally puts together the pieces.

Oh. Of course. Jim lost Draal. Turik lost his son. Ty lost his parents.

It’s to be expected that there would be orphans left in the wake of a war.

Jim watches Ty put his little horns to the stone, and then looks away with a heavy heart. He’d judged the kid as someone who was looking to establish his independence by rebelling against authority figures. Now, Jim recognizes the signs of grief and loss in almost all of Ty’s actions, and he feels a swell of despair all over again.

Maybe, in some infinitesimally small way, Jim could have done something that saved Ty’s parents. That thought makes it hard to keep himself under control, forcing the unbidden regret back down before anyone sees his eyes become wet once more.

Jim wouldn’t be able to explain to Claire or Blinky why he’s crying again. They’d tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that there wasn’t anything he could have done- but Jim doesn’t want to hear those comforting words. He doesn’t want them to try relieving him of that guilt. Not when his whole purpose is to protect families like Ty’s. Not when he failed to fulfill that purpose.

Jim wasn’t even conscious for the end of their battle against Morgana. It’s only due to the strength of the people he’s surrounded himself with that no other lives were lost. It’s Jim’s shortcomings that are fault, here.

He’ll just have to work hard and prevent those shortcomings from costing another life ever again.

 

-/-

 

When Jim finally takes his turn to visit the memorial, he’s allowed to do so alone.

Claire and Blinky don’t ask why he wants a moment alone. They give it to him willingly, hanging back and talking together while Jim steps forwards. The black stone towers over him, the light of the Heartstone eclipsed from this angle and letting the glowing names take the spotlight.

Jim traces the delicately carved lines with his eyes, following them across the dark surface; taking in their foreign language and unknown meanings. Then, in a slow wave upwards, the symbols become words, and the words become names.

Jim reads the now translated inscriptions. _Houler,_ _Val’krusha, Streep, Louuka…_ name after name after name. Blinky told Jim at one point that they were including names lost in previous battles. Altogether, this is the history of Trollmarket. Of the innocent lives taken in a war that lasted hundreds of years.

Jim’s eyes move along the lines, hand rising as he searches. Finally, his gaze finds the name he’s looking for.

_Draal._

Jim’s fingers touch the lines that make up his friend’s name. It’s just one in hundreds, and it feels like just a simple inscription isn’t enough to convey just who Draal was. The bold, brash, brave troll Jim spared the life of, and gained an invaluable ally. An ally who became a friend. A friend who became a brother.

Jim’s eyes sting as he bows his head, touching the curve of his horns to the warm stone. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, but he saw Ty do it, and… it feels right. It feels like the correct gesture to make in honor of Draal.

Jim hiccups quietly as he can, blinking away the tears before they can fall. He spends a few more moments like that, then lifts his head again. Draal’s name, and all the others around it, shines from the obsidian.

Jim wipes his eyes. He draws in a slow breath, and then beckons Claire and Blinky over. Claire’s hand finds Jim’s as she comes to his side, and Blinky’s rests in the middle of his back.

They once again steady the turmoil Jim has been struggling with all night. He sinks into that comfort, letting it put his darker thoughts to the side for now.

Their stay at the memorial is brief, but no less heartfelt than anyone else’s.

 

-/-

 

Jim has seen troll parties, but he’s never seen troll _parties._

“Jesus…” Claire breathes. “This is making the house party Notenrique threw back home look _tame.”_

Jim, who hasn’t actually ever attended a wild party of any kind (and was unaware that Notenrique threw one in Claire’s house), can only nod and accept the frame of reference.

There aren’t any defined ends or beginnings to each party; it just seems to be one massive event, spread through every residence they pass. Trolls of all ages mill about, dancing or drinking or loudly regaling each other with stories of whoever they’re mourning. Older children are snitching drinks from adults they probably shouldn’t, while younger ones cling to backs of their parents or race between legs, games of tag combined with dance creating gleeful chaos.

Jim feels a little overwhelmed by the noise of it all, but he figures he should bear it long enough to make his presence known. The Trollhunter can’t skip out on something like this so early on.

It’s easiest to just follow Blinky, who is talking with a cluster of other trolls who’ve come with them. It’s a little hard to overhear their conversation with all the music and voices filling the air, but Jim figures that if it were important Blinky would tell them. So, while they’re led to somewhere new, Jim and Claire pass the time by pointing out spectacles to each other. They see a game involving knives and fingers, pass a drinking competition, and briefly pause to hear a legend being told by a troll who looks as old as Vendel had been.

Vendel’s death is recalled on top of all the others, and Jim’s heart weighs heavier for it.

Still, he keeps a smile on his face, and sticks it out so he can have fun with Blinky and Claire.

He’s not surprised that the place they finally stop at is Glug’s. The first Glug’s bar had been Blinky and Arrrgh’s favorite, after all. Jim hadn’t actually eaten or drank anything on the menu at the time, but it’d been a rough but enjoyable spot to eat. Bar fights weren’t uncommon, but they rarely ended with actual bloodshed.

Jim briefly considers that his sense of what’s socially acceptable _might_ be a little skewed. Then he also considers the culture he’s been immersed in, and dismisses that thought. If anything, he’s _conservative_ in this kind of setting.

“A round for myself and my consultants, Glug?” Blinky asks, leaning against the bar counter. The diminutive troll on the other side gives a thumbs up, turning her head and barking orders to the staff hurrying around.

“Is there anything safe for humans?” Claire asks, looking up at the menu signs tacked to the stone overhang.

“Uhhh… I don’t know?” Jim replies. He can read the signs, sure, but that doesn’t mean he knows what any of it means.

“Get a Late Riser an’ a plate of crisps,” advises a gruff voice. A familiar small shape jumps up onto the counter, balancing a tall glass of something murky and faintly blue.

“Hey, Notenrique! I was wondering if we’d see you again tonight,” Claire says with a bright smile.

“Thought I’d check in with the scout club a’fore I really started hittin’ it,” Notenrique drawls, smirking at them.

Jim has to roll his eyes at that. “You could also just not do that and remember the whole experience? Maybe spend time with us?”

“Wow, big surprise there that you’re a stick in the mud.”

“Aw, don’t be mean,” Claire chides them both. She gives Jim a sweet smile, leaning against the counter next to Notenrique. “I think it’s cute that Jim’s a little straight laced.”

“I’ve been around too many doctors to not be,” Jim says, huffing. He misses his mom for a moment, _god,_ does he ever miss his mom, but then moves on to say, “Do you know how many injuries and accidents have intoxication involved?”

“Hold on, I need to be drunker to listen’a this.”

“Notenrique, be nice.”

“Tell ‘im to loosen up! _Fuck,_ kid- live a little! With your job, you ought’a take every chance you get to do this kinda thing. You ain’t gonna have that long a life, goin’ by how things ended for them other hunters.”

“ _Notenrique!”_ Claire snaps sharply. “Don’t even joke about that, oh my god.”

Notenrique’s ears flip backwards, something like a glimpse of remorse crossing his face. He takes another sip of his drink, avoiding Jim’s eyes.

Claire stares at him, _hard,_ until the changeling grumbles, downs another gulp of drink, and then says, “Sorry, kid. That was over the line on my part. I’m sure you’re gonna live a long couple hundred or whatever.”

“It’s fine,” Jim hears himself say, while a part of him curls up deep inside himself. Quiet, scared, worried about the future…

The amulet seems to pulse against his hip in his pocket, like its power is reminding Jim it’s right there, all he needs to do is speak the words and then… he’ll probably have a decent chance of surviving whatever’s attacking him _this_ time.

Claire sighs and says something to Notenrique under her breath- Jim doesn’t catch what, not listening to much at all. She reaches for Jim’s arm, drawing him from his thoughts. “C’mon, we’re gonna go sit with Blinky and the others. We’re gonna eat food, drink because we deserve to, and then we’re gonna dance whether you like it or not, Jim Lake. We’re having fun tonight if it’s the last thing I do.”

Jim manages to smile.

“I’m terrible at dancing,” he protests.

“I know, and it’s adorable,” Claire replies. “Just sway an’ shuffle, Jim. It’s not that hard, I promise.”

“It’s your toes’ funeral.”

“Eugh,” Notenrique mutters, following their steps, “you’re disgusting, both of you.”

Claire shoots him a warning look. Notenrique pretends that his drink is the most interesting thing in the world.

Jim sticks his tongue out at their small friend when Claire isn’t looking, and gets a middle finger in return. Jim just laughs.

 

-/-

 

Jim doesn’t really enjoy drinking, personally. He’s tried wine with his mom, given permission to so long as it was in moderation and supervised in their own home. It didn’t really give him the satisfaction people claim, so he hasn’t sought it out otherwise.

That, and he really has been around far too many doctors to want to poison his body like that. Stories about the dangers of excess drinking were some of the most frequent his mom brought home; her position as a trauma surgeon giving her plenty of experience with drunk driving accidents.

Still. He gives the Late Riser concoction a sip when Notenrique brings it around. Blinky sees them trying the drink, and visibly considers stopping them. But, maybe because he also wants them to have fun tonight, he doesn’t comment. The trust of that is one Jim will be careful not to break.

‘Crisps’ turn out to be deep fried veggies- probably the thick grass stalks Jim’s taken a real liking to. They’re crunchy and delicious like onion rings, and for a while, Jim can put aside the upset feelings in himself. Claire is close to his side, everyone crowded into a big booth table as they eat and talk. Though Notenrique is making his presence in the conversation _very_ known, Jim finds he doesn’t mind the occasional interruptions.

It’s as the dancing in the bar really takes off that Jim’s mood dips again. Claire drags him out of the booth for a few songs worth of him awkwardly shuffling around, her footwork far better in comparison. Troll dancing is very heavy footed, movements involving a lot of horn tossing and arm pumping, but Claire just… adapts so easily.

Jim is terrible at both human and troll dancing, it turns out, while Claire is excellent at both. He’s not surprised in the least that Claire slowly draws attention to herself- the novelty of a human dancing among them irresistible. It’s when Notenrique jumps into things with her that onlookers really go wild.

Jim finds himself letting the crowd absorb him, sinking backwards from the spotlight Claire and Notenrique have secured for themselves. Despite the difference in their sizes, they’re managing to stay in sync with each other to the thumping bass of the music. The amalgamation of speakers and stereos producing the pulsing electronic songs are giving Jim a headache, while Claire is smiling breathlessly as she throws herself into another improv routine with Notenrique.

Jim doesn’t consciously choose to, but he wanders away from the dancefloor and out the door of the bar.

He feels tired, and doesn’t really want to keep celebrating right now.

Everyone else seems to be going at it with as much enthusiasm as earlier. Jim passes a dozen different gatherings, ears pressed backwards as his headache worsens. The numerous moving bodies around him feel like too much. He feels like he can’t breathe properly, lungs refusing to inhale enough air.

Jim drags a hand down his face, feeling his still unfamiliar features. He reaches for the spaces of happiness and calm he’s felt tonight, and they help him not start freaking out for no reason right now. Nothing is happening. It’s a _party,_ for god’s sake. Why does he feel so over touched and jittery?

He starts palming the amulet, feeling its inscriptions and dials as he walks. Jim keeps his head lowered as he aimlessly moves through the market; the warmth of the amulet against his hand grounding him.

Without intending to, he ends up at the edge of the market’s buildings and residences. The Heartstone rises far above his head in its wide open space, its light close to that of the sun, but not quite. There aren’t any trolls remaining at the memorial, now. They’ve no doubt moved on to their own gatherings with friends and family.

Jim is about to turn around, try finding his way back to his cave and a quiet room to lie down in, when he spots a figure stepping out from behind the memorial stone. The pink of her skin gives her away immediately, along with the swish of her long, intricately braided hair.

Jim wonders if Nomura purposefully waited until everyone else left to take her turn. If he knows anything about her, then he’s probably correct with that guess. And, with the noise of the market’s population to his back, Jim starts forwards. Nomura’s subdued and self-contained company would be appreciated right now; just the right amount of interaction for Jim in his current mood.

But, he stops just before he calls out. Nomura has put a hand to the memorial, as so many others have done tonight.

Jim observes his friend, waiting to see what she does next. Nomura’s head bows to touch the stone, again an echo of others’ past actions, and it’s as her shoulders slump that Jim realizes what she’s doing here.

She’s mourning.

And, from what he’s managed to draw out of her through their friendship, he knows Nomura wouldn’t want anyone to see her in this moment.

Jim turns away, averting his eyes from her display of vulnerability. She would have stayed with their group if she was okay with them seeing this. Clearly, from how long she waited to approach the memorial, Nomura wants privacy with her grieving.

Jim walks quickly in the opposite direction, leaving his friend to her mourning. In the process, he returns to his own solitude; alone once again with his own thoughts.

Going back to Claire and the others doesn’t feel like something he can do, right now. It’s hard enough to just make his way through the trolls he passes; trying to keep up the act of positivity would be too much.

Besides. Jim hid from this sadness for weeks, denying it to himself and claiming he had more important things to do. For one night, he’ll lift that self-imposed rule.

His hair really has gotten shaggy, and for that Jim is grateful. It gives him something to hide his reddening eyes with as he makes his way home. Everyone that might see him go by is too preoccupied with the celebrations to notice Jim wiping his face again and again.

The sudden silence as he enters his home is deeply relieving. Without preamble, Jim goes to his room- _Claire’s_ room- and crawls under his blankets. He promises himself he’ll get up again in a half hour. That he’ll suck it up and go have fun with everyone so they won’t worry about him.

Jim falls asleep without meaning to, and doesn’t wake for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> summary of this chapter is that the loss of family members sucks ass and isolation is not the way to deal with that. to an extent, anyway. we all grieve in our own ways.
> 
> also i miss toby. toby why are you in arcadia. you should be here so i can write the trio together again and not have to write some ten chapters or something just so you're all in the same damn room again.
> 
> pls leave those sweet sweet comments if you can. they sincerely keep this story alive and my imagination churning. <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If he’s makin’ you unhappy, you should dump his ass.”
> 
> “That’s not the solution here. I still love him, and I want this to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> claire time B)
> 
> surprise, it's the first non-jim pov of the series! i wanted to give more perspective to what's been happening, and this huge chapter ended up spilling out from my keyboard. i feel kind of bad for jim; claire's very first chapter is bigger than any of his thus far. my son i am so sorry, i just love my daughter too much to not give her the attention and development she deserves.
> 
> ====tw heads up! stop reading here if you don't want minor spoilers.====
> 
> tw for underage drinking and drunkeness in this chapter! it's a party yall, and given how claire has canonically snuck away to concerts, i doubt she's a stranger to a good time.

Claire could swear she only looked away for a moment. What’s a handful of minutes? A few songs of dancing?

Apparently enough time for her boyfriend to fuck off without a single goodbye.

Claire wants to give Jim a break for it. He’s going through a tough transition right now; anyone would be stressed out from becoming a whole new species and ending a war within a forty-eight hour time span. Not to mention everything else that happened before that.

However, Claire’s patience can only last so long. And she might be reaching the end of it tonight.

“C’mon,” she says, grabbing Notenrique from the table as she passes.

He thrashes in her arms, belligerent and snapping a startled, “ _HEY-_ s’cuse you! I was still eatin’, missy!”

“Jim disappeared. We’re gonna go look for him.”

“And you can’t just do that _alone?”_

“Just- I ne- want the company, okay? Please, Notenrique?”

Something about how she says that seems to get through to her adoptive brother. Notenrique stops struggling and huffs, sulking.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “but I reserve the right to bitch ‘im out for this.”

“Get in line,” Claire replies, to which Notenrique laughs.

Claire takes the shortcuts she’s memorized the past weeks, making a beeline for her home away from home. The journey is longer than it usually would be, since she has to dodge around gatherings of trolls _everywhere._ Blinky really hadn’t been kidding when he said troll parties can get wild. Claire’s been to some crazy shows and after parties herself, but nothing quite on this level.

There’s a difference between a few dozen people and a few _hundred_ , after all. Especially with how troll social culture is.

Finally, after slinking around what seems like a brewing fight outside of a residence down the way, they make it to their destination. Claire is panting, cheeks reddened from how quickly she got them here. She pauses between the stacks of boxes to catch her breath, dropping Notenrique onto the floor.

“I coulda walked, you know,” he gripes, because he has to complain every little thing.

“Sorry- was in a hurry,” Claire says automatically. She stands straight again when she can talk without gasping, moving further into their homey cave in search of Jim.

Jim isn’t here, as it turns out. Claire touches the unmade beds they left, finding them cold as the floor.

She groans. Of course it wouldn’t be as easy as that.

“Welp, he’s not here, we got a party waitin’- let’s just go,” Notenrique says flippantly, turning away from Claire’s room and presumably heading for the exit.

Claire grabs his scruff, ignoring his hisses. “Nuh uh, buddy. We’re gonna go looking for him.”

“ _Why?”_ Notenrique exclaims.

“Because he’s acting weird! He’s been weird for weeks, Notenrique. He needs us to keep an eye on him.”

“So what if he’s kinda moody lately? He’ll get over it.”

“Notenrique. _Please._ ”

“God, fuck, _fine._ Now leggo of my scruff, kid! And quit makin’ those damn eyes at me.”

Claire lets go of Notenrique’s scruff. He reaches back and smooths it, claws running through the stiff hairs methodically. Claire supposes he might have been telling the truth earlier; Notenrique does seem to be very attentive to how his cresting hair looks.

He follows her out while Claire considers where to go next. She’s also cursing the fact that she has exactly _zero_ reception down here. If they were still in Arcadia, she’d at least be able to text her stupid boyfriend that she’s looking for him. As it stands, Claire will have to do this the old fashioned way.

“I ain’t grid searching the entire market,” Notenrique says immediately when she tells him the plan.

Claire crosses her arms, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. “Do you have a better idea?”

“We go back to havin’ a good time an’ let Jimmy-boy find his way home when he feels like it.”

“Notenrique.”

“Ugh… we could ask around or something? The Trollhunter can’t just up and wander off without someone seein’.”

“Better. Thank you.”

They don’t even make it back to the main roads before that plan is derailed. Claire and Notenrique try to sneak back past the rowdy crowd spilling out of another cave, but aren’t as successful this time. The onlookers of whatever’s happening suddenly get out of the way, leaving Claire and Notenrique completely exposed to the body thrown their direction.

Claire thanks her blind reflexes for saving their skin. She grabs Notenrique and dives in a roll, barely getting them out of the way before a troll five times her size lands where they’d been standing.

“ _Hey!”_ she snaps, standing up and glaring at the culprit of the near miss. “There’re other people walking here! Watch where you- uh- throw people?”

She doesn’t mean to end the last part in a question, but what can you do? The situation is absurd enough to make her stutter.

“Huh? What’d you say to me?” The other half of the fight stalks towards Claire, his teeth bared and eyes narrowed. He towers over her, almost as brawny as Arrrgh is. Claire gets a thick waft of his breath across her face, and she wrinkles her nose as the smell of inebriation assaults her. It smells like Glug’s did, except worse.

“You heard ‘er, asshole,” Notenrique growls, jumping in front of Claire and drawing himself up to his full height. Which, in comparison to the other troll, isn’t all that impressive. “Fucking _watch it_ where you an’ your buddies duke it out.”

The troll stares at Notenrique. Then he laughs.

“Hey now, it’s _you!”_ he exclaims, pointing down at the changeling. “Grourg told me all about you!” He smiles at Notenrique. “Can’t believe a lil bite like you managed to weasel ‘is way in with a catch like Hilga.”

The crowd around them laughs. Notenrique’s ears are pinned backwards as they do. Claire watches the troll antagonizing them and sees his smile become a sneer.

“You an’ the fleshbag run along, now,” says the troll, reaching out with one massive hand and carelessly shoving Claire to the side. She stumbles from the force. Notenrique doesn’t even get that much courtesy, dodging the troll’s feet as he lumbers by.

Claire rubs her shoulder, smarting from the shove in more ways than one. As the troll bends to grab at the one who’d nearly landed on them, she hears that semi-unconscious troll groan, trying to twist away.

Claire decides her search for Jim can wait for a few minutes.

Her eyes dart around- the missing weight of her staff aches in her chest- looking for a suitable weapon. She spots a collection of metal rods piled on a table dragged out of the cave; likely to be party snacks.

Claire runs over and snatches one up, twirling its three foot and some inches of length. The weight isn’t bad, not much more than her old weapon had been, and it isn’t bent anywhere. It’s not the shadow staff, but it’ll do.

“’course we gotta do this,” Notenrique mutters, brushing against her legs. He’s followed her away from the other trolls and is scowling deeply. “’course we couldn’t just stay at the party an’ have a good time. _‘course not.”_

“We’ll make this quick and get back to it, I promise,” Claire says, advancing towards her target’s undefended back. “ _HEY! JACKASS!”_

The troll turns partially, arm raised in a halted punch.

Claire smacks her rod against her palm, glaring.

“You were kinda rude to my friend, and you don’t seem to be treating that guy there any better.” She tilts her chin down, mimicking the stance she’s seen many trolls take when they’re angry. “I think we all need an apology.”

The troll stares at her, and then snorts in amusement. He drops the poor soul he’s been beating on, turning fully to face Claire and Notenrique. “Just ‘cause you’re with the Trollhunter doesn’t mean you get to throw your weight around, fleshbag.”

“Crawg,” warns a friend of his, “you shouldn’t say something like that to her. She might be a human, but she’s done a lot for us.”

“The Trollhunter won’t be happy, either,” cautions another friend.

Crawg waves them both off, uncaring. “If she can’t defend herself, then what would they even want with her?”

“You’re dumb as shit, ya know?” Notenrique cackles.

“ _Watch it,_ impure-”

“Hey,” Claire says coldly. She raises her metal rod. “Shut up already.”

The crack of metal against stone is satisfying. The offended cry Crawg makes is also satisfying. Claire’s blood is roaring in her ears and she _maybe_ has a backlog of frustrations to work out.

This won’t take long at all.

Notenrique isn’t a frontline fighter, but he plays his part. Small and speedy works for both of them; Claire spinning her rod in vicious swings while Notenrique clings to Crawg’s back, clawing at vulnerable spots. Claire ducks and dodges retaliatory attacks, adrenaline speeding up her response time and driving her on in the fight.

When Notenrique is finally dislodged from Crawg’s back, Claire’s small companion going flying to hit the ground in a roll, she gets tired of things.

The enraged roar from Crawg doesn’t scare her; she’s heard things far scarier. Instead she takes advantage of how he charges at her with his horns down, a classic troll attack. Blinky trained her to counter this to the point she could do it in her sleep.

Waiting until the very last second, Claire takes a flying leap at Crawg just before he slams into her. She lands on his back, slinging her rod under his neck as she does- yanking it backwards against his throat as he thrashes and chokes. The onlookers to the fight are chanting, calling bets- all the while their friend hacks and struggles. Claire feels something dark and angry inside herself rise up, misplaced aggression erupting out of her in the form of a scream.

She jumps suddenly before Crawg can ram her against a wall or the ground- keeping hold of her rod across his neck and dragging him into a twist. He doesn’t have enough time to correct his balance, and his own weight works against him as Claire topples him. Crawg hits the ground like a sack of boulders, one of his sideways jutting horns impaling into the dirt.

Claire stumbles up and away from him, heaving breaths through a sore throat. Her weapon is clutched in a white knuckled grip, ready in case Crawg gets up and makes a go at her. Notenrique comes to stand next to her, a hand placed on her calve to let her know he’s here.

Crawg growls and woozily tries to get up, only to be stopped by his horn stuck in the ground. He casts a glance up at Claire, and after a brief stare down, he tilts his head best he can to show his throat.

The crowd watching their fight practically scream. Claire realizes a few seconds later that they’ve won.

“Told ya,” Notenrique crows at Crawg. He pats Claire’s knee proudly, chest puffed out. “You’re dumb as shit to try screwing with the girl who took down the Pale Lady.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Claire corrects with a wry smile. Though they’d won that day, even talking about Morgana can… hurt.

“Eh, it was mostly you.”

“No, it was a-”

“ _Amazing!”_ exclaims someone really close to Claire’s ear, clapping her on the back and nearly making Claire double over. Claire stands up again hurriedly and meets the eyes of an odd dozen trolls pressing in close to them.

“Uh, hi?” she manages.

“No wonder the Trollhunter brought you along!” the first troll continues excitedly. “Any fleshbag that can take down a troll as big as Crawg here has _gotta_ be worth keepin’ around.”

Claire doesn’t know if she can really take that comment as a compliment. But, since it doesn’t seem to be made with any condescension, she figures it’s not worth it to try correcting anyone.

“Come on, this calls for drinks!”

“Oh, uh- I was actually-”

“It’s on me, don’t worry. We’ll treat ya for settin’ Crawg right.”

“Can’t say no to a free drink,” Notenrique comments, cackling.

“See? The impure has the right idea,” the troll laughs. Claire frowns at the ‘impure’ remark, but Notenrique is laughing as well, so… she doesn’t know if he’d want her to call it out.

“Jim’ll show up when he does,” Notenrique encourages, tugging at Claire’s pant leg. “Let’s go have some fun a’fore we keep looking, alright? You deserve a night off from responsibilities, kid.”

“…Alright,” Claire concedes, guiltily letting herself be led away by the cheering crowd and her brother. She is still sort of pissed with Jim, anyway. Some cool down time would be better than her finding him while she’s still worked up- especially with fight or flight instincts singing in her head still.

There’re going to be bruises on her palms later, from how the metal reverberated every time she hit Crawg, but it’s not the worst she’s ever dealt with. Her multiple callouses mitigated any other damage she might have done to herself; her slender digits well used to fighting. Claire keeps the rod with her despite not needing it anymore; sorely missing the comfort of her destroyed weapon, even with how complex her feelings towards it got at the end of things.

After they’ve been taken to a new house (cave?) party, and a drink has been shoved into Claire’s smarting hands, she finds it hard to maintain her reservations. The music is loud and enticing, the atmosphere of things intoxicating. She hasn’t been to a serious party in months; Trollhunter stuff derailing every plan she made with friends. Claire, as much as she loves being with Jim, Toby, and the others… she misses some aspects of her previously normal life.

Like forgetting all her responsibilities and troubles for a night, and making as many stupid mistakes as she wants.

Claire sniffs the drink she’s been handed, decides it doesn’t smell like anything that’ll melt her guts, and downs it all in one go. The taste is disgusting, but not worse than poorly mixed drinks in someone’s trashed kitchen. The feat gets her another round of cheering as she feels a wave of dizziness come over her, heart thumping in time with the heavy techno music playing.

Claire sees Notenrique up on a table, having a drink of his own, and Claire laughs as he coughs after a large gulp. She feels giddy and carefree in a purposeful and almost spiteful way. She meant what she said, earlier. She’s going to have fun tonight if it’s the last thing she does.

Claire just thought she’d get to do it with Jim.

 _Later,_ she tells herself, and promises to keep looking for her boyfriend in a bit. Just… after another drink, maybe a little bit of dancing…

 

-/-

 

Claire knows how to party safely. She knows how much she can handle, how to keep herself aware of her surroundings and actions. Usually, anyway.

She probably should have checked just what kind of drink she got handed. Claire hasn’t had more than two and a half so far and already her head is messed up.

Claire stumbles over to the first wall she can, holding herself up and swallowing nausea. The cave full of music and moving bodies isn’t electrifying to be in anymore. Now, her body feels numb and her thoughts are foggy. It’s too loud, here. Claire doesn’t feel like dancing right now, maybe not again for the rest of the night.

She needs some air. It’s too crowded inside. Claire makes her way through the trolls all crammed into this cave, stepping over spills of unknown origins and food ground into the floor. It takes longer than she’d like, unable to pinpoint which direction the exit is with her fuzzy thoughts.

Claire finally makes it out, inhaling cool air and leaning back against the wall of the market’s cavern. She looks around herself for the way home, but she frowns when she realizes she doesn’t know where she is. At some point the group she’d joined up with must have hopped parties again. Claire can’t see any familiar landmarks, and feels like it’d be embarrassing to go ask for directions to her own house- _cave,_ right, right…

Claire rubs her face, groaning. She probably should have listened to Blinky about not going to troll parties. The more family and community oriented party in the center of the market is a blissful, non-headachy memory, and Claire is disappointed in herself for not just sticking to that.

God, she’s out of practice with this kind of thing. Or maybe it’s that she’s not with her usual company. Darci and Mary were always her wingmen at concerts and house parties; they all watched each other’s backs and made sure no one made overly stupid life choices.

Claire misses her friends so, so, so much. She barely gets to call or text them, she’s almost never up at the same hours as them- Claire thought she could handle the distance better than this, but she was wrong. Homesickness eats at her pretty much nightly, even with Jim and their other friends here. Claire also really misses sleeping in an actual bed, but that’s not really a priority right now. Currently, she’d take a slab of cardboard if it were in her cave bedroom.

“Hey, kid. You okay?”

Claire blearily looks towards where the question came from. Notenrique is standing near her, giving her a look that would be a grimace on anyone else’s face. For him, it’s a look of concern.

“I think… I wanna go home,” Claire says slowly, tired and dizzy.

“Thought you could hold your own, but I guess you’re not quite on level with me yet, haha.”

“Don’t laugh, my head- ugh, I feel sick… D’you know which way home is?”

“Sure.”

“Thank god.”

“It’s on the other side of the market.”

“ _Noooo…”_

“C’mon. You an’ your boy keep crampin’ my style tonight; I wanna ditch you an’ get back to partying sooner than later.”

Claire knows Notenrique doesn’t mean that, not in the way most people would interpret it. Notenrique hides it well but he can’t hide from her. He’s actually _such_ a softie once you get under his skin. Sure, he swears and steals and spits like a feral little wild thing, but he’s got a gentler side. A nobler one, even, going by the fact that he never did run off soon as he was able…

“Your house was warmer than a cave, an’ it had free snacks,” Notenrique says, rolling his eyes. “So sue me for wantin’ a good place to sleep an’ easy access to unattended laundry.”

“You… are a _liar,”_ Claire accuses with a giggle.

“I sure as fuck am with a lotta other stuff, but I really did eat a lotta your laundry.”

Claire giggles again. “I bought extra socks ‘cause I _knew_ you would find ‘em.”

“That so?”

“Mmm _hmm.”_

Notenrique is a little quiet for a moment, then coughs and laughs. “Not the way most kids would spend their allowance, but to each their own, huh?”

“You’re still a liar, though,” Claire points out again, stooping down to be closer to him. Their walking comes to a halt as she stumbles, ending up kneeling next to her tiny wonderful brother.

Notenrique raises an eyebrow at her; his big yellow eyes luminous and questioning. “How so?”

“It’s a secret,” she tells him very firmly. “You’d hate it if people knew. I know you would.”

“Oh my god, you’re fuckin’ sloshed, kid.”

“ _Ssshhhshsh._ Shh. Listen, okay? You stayed… ‘cause you _love_ _me,”_ Claire teases in a stage whisper.

Notenrique’s ears do a cute little flippy thing- Claire always has to hold herself back from touching them when they do that. Same with Jim’s, and Blinky’s, and _Nomura’s_ , oh if Claire touched Nomura’s she’d lose all her fingers for sure…

“Don’t- don’t go sayin’ shit like that, _Jesus,”_ Notenrique hisses, reminding her of the present. His scruff is all bristly and his ears are flat backwards.

“Aw, you don’t gotta be embarrassed…” Claire leans forwards, catching him in a hug before he can escape, “’cause I love _you,_ too.”

“Claire- _kid-_ this isn’t- this isn’t the god damn place to do this!”

Claire ignores him, hugging Notenrique even tighter. His claws haven’t even scratched her; if he wanted to get away, he’d actually put effort into it.

“’s true, though,” Claire says warmly, cheek against some of his scruff. “I’m… I’m _so_ glad you stayed. I would’ve missed you so, so much…”

“Of fuckin’ course you’d be a cuddly drunk. You- god, fuck- Claire, could ya save this for when we’re h- when we get back?”

“Promise?”

“Promise _what?”_

“That you won’t just- _run off_ , or anythin’?”

“I’d promise ta blind the sun for you if it’ll get you _offa me.”_

Claire has to giggle again. Troll and changeling phrases are so much _fun._ She loves learning new things every day about troll society and culture. She loves, loves, _loves_ how many beautiful old books they have. Claire could lose herself in them if she isn’t careful; drifting off from her own world and into others of the far past, each more magical and grand than the last.

Notenrique is squirming against her again. She relents and lets him go, sad to do so. She misses getting to be- to be _close_ with people. Trolls are amazing and strange and endlessly fascinating, but they’re all so… _aggressive_ , sometimes, and standoffish otherwise. No one casually side hugs her like Mary and Darci did, no one flops onto her bed with her to watch bad Netflix films, no one touches her hair or holds her hand or kisses her forehead before bed, saying softly _Buenas noches, cariño…_

She has Jim. She has her boyfriend. Claire loves him more than she ever thought she could, but god _damn_ if he isn’t touchy as shit lately. Abruptly drawing away, shutting her out, disappearing whenever the hell he feels like it because _apparently,_ Claire having dragged herself all the way across the fucking country wasn’t enough to prove to him she is _here_ for him. That she’ll listen, that she _loves him._

But maybe her love isn’t enough. The way they’ve started to fall out of sync- the miscommunications, the unspoken words, the gestures of affection turning stilted and rigid at times…

It all pretty summarily says that they- the two of them- just aren’t working out right.

Damn Jim Lake Jr for sweeping her off her feet in a fight for their lives, showing her this big, beautiful hidden world. Damn him for making sweet smiles and nervous compliments and offerings of adventures the stuff of dreams. Damn him for making her fall in love with him and then doing- _this._

“Son of a bitch,” Notenrique says, staring up at her with panicked eyes. “Claire- what the _fuck_ are you crying for?!”

Claire hiccups pathetically. She wants to be back home so, so badly. She doesn’t want the cave- she wants _home._ She wants her mom’s rare comfort, her dad’s gentle concern, her baby brother’s cheeky innocent grin reminding her everything she did, she did for _him,_ for _all of them._

She wants to not feel so alone.

“God- shit, shit, shit- Claire, kid, _look at me._ ” Notenrique and her must have started walking again, because the stone ground that Claire is wobbling on is different, and there’s a pile of trash nearby for her brother to clamber onto. He’s eyelevel with her, his scruff puffed up almost completely, claws digging into the discarded timber he’s balancing on.

“I got- I got a place, near here,” Notenrique says, darting glances each way of the road. No one has looked towards them yet, not overtly, but Claire’s foggy mind manages to remind her that eventually, someone _will_ look. And then what?

“Claire! Claire, _listen to me._ ” Claire snaps back to attention, unsettled by the fear in Notenrique’s voice. He gives her an almost pleading look. “You just gotta follow me a little way down the road, then we’ll be safe, okay? I’m gonna take care of you, sis. Just- keep yourself together a little longer, ‘kay?”

Claire hiccups and nods. Her tears are stifled by how scared Notenrique is- though she doesn’t get why. They’re supposed to be _safe,_ now. There isn’t supposed to be anything left to _be_ scared of.

And yet, a feeling of fear remains. One that gives rise to all the others.

Her fear loops her back to why she’s feeling so, so sad right now. _Loneliness. Abandonment. Isolation. Jim. Jim doesn’t act like he used to. He doesn’t respond to her like he used to. He’s different. Claire said she could love him no matter what, but he’s_ different.

Claire’s eyes threaten to fill all over again at that thought.

“I’m a h- _horrible_ girlfriend,” Claire tries to whisper, but it comes out a sob.

Notenrique swears, grabbing her hand as he jumps down from his trash pile. Claire can barely wipe her eyes and hold back more crying as they run.

This was supposed to be a good night. It’s not fair that she feels so lonely and terrible. Why can’t anything be _easy_ anymore?

Self-pitying thoughts like that cling to Claire more than she’d ever admit. She doesn’t want to whine like that. She’s not one of the people who lost their entire home; she’s not someone who lost a loved one- Claire wasn’t even all that injured after the final battle. Just scrapes and bruises. Her little pity parties are selfish and she knows it.

Everything is terrible and so is she.

“You’re- that’s fuckin’ bull,” Notenrique snaps, hauling her down a narrow space between two stone buildings.

“Huh?” Claire asks, thoughts muddy.

“You’re not _terrible,_ Claire. Who even gave you that idea?”

Claire wants to answer, but all the reasons why she feels like that are too vast, too varied to list. It’d take ages and she’d just start crying harder. Which, admittedly, she’s starting to do anyway.

“’m sorry,” Claire says miserably as they come to a stop, hitting a dead end to the tiny alley. They’re back against the cavern wall, on the tip of the residential neighborhood and the start of where businesses have been set up.

“Don’t _apologize,”_ Notenrique scolds. He sounds mad. Claire’s gone and upset the both of them, now, so this horrible night really is complete. She’s lost her boyfriend, pissed off her brother, and is having selfish, sad thoughts that make her heart ache and eyes burn.

“C’mon,” her small inhuman sibling orders, scrambling up the wall of rock and disappearing into a hole. Claire stares after him for a moment, confused by the small hole dug into the cavern’s great wall. Why are they here? This isn’t a cave or a house. Claire doesn’t want to sit in a cold, dark hole. She feels awful as is.

Notenrique’s face reappears in the opening, aiming a stern look at her. “ _Come on,”_ he orders again, pronouncing both words. He only does that when he really means business.

Claire wobbly makes her way up the few feet to the opening, fingers catching on small grips that only the two of them could make use of. Everyone else in the market is too big.

The hole’s opening is just large enough for her to crawl into. Like a tunnel from a children’s play place Claire has a few memories of playing in. Claire minds her head and the roof of the tunnel, resisting the desire to just lie down on the cold floor and curl up there. She’s dizzy, sick, and so _sad._ She doesn’t feel like having adventures right now.

The tunnel isn’t long, though, and she blinks as she enters a larger space. It’s not more than five feet in circumference, maybe smaller; ceiling high enough she can sit up, but not stand up. A slightly tattered rug has been splayed across the floor, its coloring faded with use and time, and a pile of pillows and blankets takes up the back corner. A few stacks of items are along the sides, trinkets or boxes of food, and everything is softly illuminated by the light generating crystals Claire sees everywhere in the market.

Claire’s tears are momentarily forgotten as she takes that all in. Notenrique pulls her the rest of the way inside with a careful grip on her arm, leading her to the bedding. Claire sits down on it without prompt, faintly surprised by its comfortability.

She’s also surprised by Notenrique slowly crawling into her lap, sitting up so he can cup her face and brush her messy bangs out of the way. Claire blinks as his claws wipe away the tear tracks down her cheeks.

“There,” Notenrique says quietly, yellow eyes bright in his little cave’s dimness, “ain’t no one else ‘round, sis. You don’t gotta hold it together anymore. Not here, not with me.”

A reflexive deflection nearly rises in Claire- _I’m fine, I can handle this, I’m just having a moment, it’ll pass-_ but it dies unspoken as she looks at her brother’s expression. It’s soft, worried- it’s open emotions that Notenrique never lets show.

But, he is, right now. For her.

Claire’s eyes flood anew, and the first sob that comes out of her is choked. The second and third are unbidden, as are all the rest.

Claire has her arms around Notenrique, clinging to his small body. His grip on her is strong, claws dragging shallowly against the fabric of her jacket. He pushes his face against her neck and breathes, warm air huffing against Claire’s skin, a rattling little noise growing from that.

Notenrique’s purring is like an old cat’s; coarse and scratchy. Claire holds him so close to herself she can feel the sounds in her ribs, wanting it to remain there forever, private and comforting.

Claire’s intoxication and misery are causing her to list sideways in the bed hollow. Notenrique doesn’t stop her from it- instead, he follows her tilt, and doesn’t let go even as Claire ends up on her side. He all but burrows against her, small body all hard angles and gruff affection. Claire catches a glimpse of his pupils and sees them blown wide.

He doesn’t shush her. Notenrique lets her keep crying and crying. Claire doesn’t even know why she’s still carrying on at this point- it’s nothing specific, not anymore. She just… _aches,_ in a dozen little places, and it’s like having untreated, oozing cuts inside herself.

It’s been like that for a while now. Claire usually can ignore those hurts, but not tonight. Not with the drinks, the abandonment, the homesickness, the _loneliness-_

Notenrique’s cheek bumps against hers as Claire sobs a little hard, rubbing carefully. The softer tips of his ears brush Claire’s skin and she hiccups, hugging him at an awkward angle.

It’s easy to stay like that, crying and hugging, letting a tiny engine vibrate against her body, comforting probably the only way he knows how.

 

-/-

 

Claire comes back around some immeasurable time later. She feels warm, limbs bundled up and head laid against something soft. Blinking sleepily, Claire takes in her surroundings.

Notenrique is sitting not too far away, paging through a magazine he’s got propped up against a box. He’s nibbling on a hard little fruit while he reads, eyes scouring the paragraphs of the tabloid scandals. As he flips to a new page, he smirks and lets out a quiet cackle.

Claire vaguely recalls her dad asking her where all his magazines had gone, a fair while back. Well, this would be the answer to that question.

“You know that’s all hokey dramatics, right?” Claire says hoarsely, dry throat itching. “None of it’s real.”

Notenrique’s ears twitch, turning towards the sound of her voice. He smirks wider. “An’ that’s why it’s fuckin’ hilarious.” He turns his head, grinning. “Humans got all this serious shit going on in the world- climate changin’, people starvin’, stuff like that- an’ they’re all fussed up about some starlet’s divorce. Your species’ priorities are shit, kiddo.”

Claire doesn’t disagree with that statement; their priorities really are skewed. However, as she sits up and tries to say that, what happens instead is a wave of intense dizziness and nausea. Claire is now awake enough to feel the pulsing headache in her skull and she wishes she were still passed out.

Notenrique laughs as she bends over her knees, head throbbing as she groans. While she shuts her eyes tightly, Claire hears shuffling around and liquid being poured.

“Here. You’re dehydrated.” A claw tip taps her on the shoulder, and Claire takes the offered cup of water. It’s a shiny little piece of pottery, with a small chip in the lip. Claire turns it so the chip is on the other side from her, gulping down the water.

Notenrique refills it twice more before Claire is finished. She still feels horrible, and the water will take a little while to make it into her system. Without other options, she settles for groaning and flopping back against the nest of pillows and blankets around her, sitting upright, if in a deep slouch. After placing the water jug and cup to the side, Notenrique comes over to put a hand on her arm. Questioning.

Claire lifts that arm, silently accepting his wanting to cuddle with her. Notenrique doesn’t waste any time, bristly scruff scratching against Claire’s palm as he arches up into it, before carefully climbing on top of her. Notenrique used to be fairly heavy for Claire to hold, but she’s gotten stronger. It’s closer to having a particularly big cat on her chest, these days.

The subdued purring he’s doing only increases that association. Claire sighs, closing her eyes again as they both relax. Her headache still throbs, but it’s dulling, now.

“What is this place?” Claire whispers. Her throat hurts and _speaking_ hurts, so she’s trying to keep things quiet.

“’s one’a my places,” Notenrique says, voice catching on his little purrs. It’s cute. Claire’s fingers play with his scruff while she hums an intrigued response. “I can’t be spendin’ _all_ my time with you an’ the rest, now can I?”

“It’s so small,” Claire says, lips quirking.

“It’s defensible.”

“It’s small and _cute._ Like a little hideaway…”

Notenrique growls, butting his head against her collarbone. “ _Shut up._ ‘s not like I need a lotta space to myself, okay? And I got another five of these babies around the market, so _there._ ‘s basically the equivalent of like, a really small house…”

Claire chuckles. Then winces as her temples pulse uncomfortably. Rather than just laugh this time, Notenrique climbs a little higher and bumps against her chin. His cool skin is nice against hers, like an ice pack wrapped in layers of towel. Jim feels like that, too, whenever he lets her close enough to cuddle.

Thinking of her boyfriend, Claire groans as she remembers just how she got into this predicament.

“ _Ughhh…_ that was so _stupid_ of me,” Claire gripes, putting a hand on her face in shame. “We were supposed to go find Jim, not get _hangovers…”_

“Ey, you’re the only one here with a hangover, missy. I’ve got a tolerance for drink that’s centuries in the makin’.”

“Wow, sounds very healthy.”

“ _You_ try livin’ my life and not feel like knocking back a few.”

Claire notes the defensiveness in Notenrique’s tone and scratches behind his ears. His slight temper cools down, easing back into the easy cuddle with her. Claire likes the rumble of his purrs against her ribs; it makes her feel grounded. Tethered to her reality.

The point when they started doing this is a little blurry- so much was happening, and with… _Morgana’s_ influence on Claire’s life… a lot of her memories have meshed into a messy reel. Still, Claire can recall enough to know that when Notenrique first offered this, it was because of her insomnia. Claire having been driven into long, lonely nights by the turbulent events plaguing her life.

“How come you’re not this friendly all the time?” Claire asks, thinking about her increasing loneliness lately. If she could get more of _this,_ the quiet and care and cuddling, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Notenrique snorts, his breath huffing across her skin. “’cause I ain’t _that_ sorta freaky? I’m down for a lotta stuff, sis, but exhibitionism isn’t on the list.”

Claire stares at the ceiling of the bed hollow for a few long seconds.

“…Come again?”

“Don’t you read like, every book you can get your hands on? And you ain’t figured this one out yet?”

“Notenrique.”

“…Can’t you look it up _later?_ I hate explaining this shit, jeez…”

Claire tilts her chin down to give him a look. Notenrique glances at her, then glances away again.

“You got a double chin like that.”

Claire tweaks his ear. “Being mean isn’t getting you out of this one, buddy.”

“ _Ow,_ Christ- look, it’s _private,_ okay? This shit is private an’ it should _stay_ private. You see any other trolls ‘round here flaunting weakness like that?”

Claire releases her light hold on Notenrique’s ear; he was being more dramatic than needed about it. She frowns, brow knitting. “Expressing normal casual affection with your family isn’t _weakness_ , Notenrique.”

“To humans, maybe, but trolls?” Notenrique shifts his weight, lifting his head so they can meet gazes. “I’m already on some trolls’ shitlist ‘cause I’m a changeling. I’d just be advertisin’ my weak spots if I did this anywhere someone could see. Duh.”

“No, not ‘ _duh’._ That doesn’t make sense. You don’t have to full on cuddle with me, but would it kill you to be more sociable?”

“Wouldn’t kill me, no, but someone _else_ might kill me. And you.” At Notenrique’s grave words, Claire becomes silent. “It makes it look like I can’t take care of myself, ya see? And vice versa that I can’t take care’a you. Same for you actin’ mushy with me. We’d both lose what respect folks down here have for us- you bein’ the Trollhunter’s partner will only get us so far.”

Claire mulls over that information. Slowly, if grudgingly, she sees the sense of it. With how much more time she spends with trolls and her friends, she’s seen more and more of how troll treat Notenrique. In such a harsh and often violent social culture, of course showing dependence- even just emotional or familial- on another person would be looked down upon.

“That’s bullshit,” Claire decides.

Notenrique snorts and laughs. “You’re tellin’ me, kiddo.”

“How can you stand that kind of thing? I guess I’ve been getting some special treatment ‘cause I’m a human, but you…”

“Which is why I always avoided livin’ with trolls longer than a few weeks at a time.” Notenrique puts his head back down again, his voice muffled slightly by Claire’s shirt. “Always had some kinda mission ta get done with the Order, anyway. Didn’t leave much time for socializing…”

He trails off, which is typical. Just when he’s getting to the good stuff, Claire’s brother will deflect and change topics.

“You gonna elaborate some more on that?”

“Mmm… nah.”

Claire sighs. “Asshole. Getting me hooked and then leaving me on a cliff-hanger.”

“Nosy bitch. My business is my business. That’s all in the past anyhow.”

Claire tugs on Notenrique’s scruff for the bitch comment, and he retaliates by turning his head and nipping her wrist. It doesn’t actually hurt, just the brush of small fangs prickling her skin for an instant. Claire rolls her eyes at his growling.

“You and Jim are two peas in a pod like that,” she grumbles, bitterness rising in her chest. “I swear to _god,_ it’s so much work getting him to be honest with me recently. And to stop being the Trollhunter every hour of the day. _And_ to just- _chill out,_ sometimes. He’s making me feel… really tired.” Claire’s drunken self hadn’t been wrong for her tears. What she can recollect of those moments, she knows she’s feeling the same amount of guilt still. She feels so bad for saying it, after committing so much and swearing up and down she could handle it… but, “I don’t know how much longer I can deal with all… this.”

“If he’s makin’ you unhappy,” Notenrique muses, “you should dump his ass.”

“That’s not the solution here. I still love him, and I want this to work.”

“I’d dump him.”

“You aren’t me and your opinion only counts so much towards this.”

“I’m your brother, ain’t I? Shouldn’t my opinion on things be more important than anyone else’s?”

“They’re not more important than mine.”

“…Aight, fair enough.”

They lay in peaceful quiet for a while, Claire’s eyes drooping a few times as she dozes lightly. Her headache is almost nearly gone when she starts to wake up again, and Claire finally has the sense to ask an important question.

“Notenrique?”

“Hm?”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“I’d say… close to eight hours? A little more, now.”

Claire groans.

 

-/-

 

Claire needs coffee. _Real_ , overly sweet, ridiculously priced coffee. Which she can’t get down here in Trollmarket, because everything is skewed towards troll diets. Most of which containing things she really shouldn’t ingest.

Claire compares the fact that pen inks are used in coffee brews around here and the drinks she threw back yesterday. She then counts her lucky stars she didn’t drink battery acid or something.

The market wide party seems to be in a lull anyway, so she doesn’t run much risk right now of food poisoning. Claire passes by multiple trolls taking naps in public spaces, and what ones are still awake are spinning quiet drunken tales, occasionally breaking into loud laughter. Though Claire sees Notenrique darting longing glances at those collections of inebriated trolls, he doesn’t ditch her while they walk back to Blinky’s place.

Claire appreciates that. While Jim is perfectly content with a small group of friends, Claire is used to talking with at least a dozen acquaintances and friends every day. Maybe she’d had to sacrifice socializing so she could help with Trollhunter stuff, but she’d still had more hang out time back then than she does now. She could handle being alone for the rest of the day- really, she could- but having Notenrique with her is a much better alternative.

Unlike the last time they were here, the cave isn’t unoccupied. Blinky is snoozing at the table, a collection of empty mugs scattered across it. There are also papers and possibly half drawn architecture blueprints, but most are too stained with whatever the large mugs had been filled with. Claire gives her mentor a fond eye roll as they slip past; not even while he and his friends were partying could Blinky take a break.

Creeping past Jim’s room- whether Nomura is here or not is always up to question- Claire’s feelings from before getting drunk resurface. A knot forms in her stomach, twisting with the frustration and hurt that Jim ditching her has caused. Pushing aside the curtain to her room, Claire has a somewhat angry sentence already forming on her tongue.

It dissipates when she sees Jim.

He’s curled most of the way into a ball, tangled in both of their shares of blankets. He’s managed to migrate halfway onto Claire’s floor bed, too; lying at an angle across both. His face is partially hidden by the pillow his head rests on, but Claire can still see the tired expression Jim wears even while he’s asleep.

Claire sighs. While Notenrique wanders over to her backpack to start pulling things out of it, Claire steps around her sleeping boyfriend to be next to his head.

“You make it really hard to stay mad at you, you know that, right?” Claire whispers as she kneels slowly, staring down at Jim. He doesn’t even twitch at her voice; well and truly deep into sleep. Maybe for the first time in days.

Claire isn’t blind. She knows Jim sleeps lightly and briefly more times than not. Even with his new physiology, that can’t be healthy for anyone. He’s always got an undercurrent of tiredness to him, even if he’s smiling and acting like he doesn’t. Claire gets it, she really does. She’s had insomnia episodes for months- coming and going sporadically. Recently, maybe because Jim is in her room with her, Claire has been managing to actually sleep. Before that, though, she’s been spending hours into the day occupying herself in any way possible. Exhausted but wound up. Unable to stand lying down and closing her eyes for more than a few seconds.

It’s kind of scary for her. Going to sleep. After what… _Morgana_ did to her… a part of Claire is terrified she’ll fall asleep and wake up somewhere without memory of how she got there. That it’ll start all over again.

Morgana is gone, but the fear of her reach, her hold on Claire’s very _soul…_ it lingers.

Notenrique nudges her out of her thoughts, brushing up against Claire’s side. “C’mon, kid. Let ‘im sleep. You both need a break right now.”

Right. Jim needs sleep. Claire needs space.

Claire grabs a change of clothes and slips back out of the room, shutting the thick curtain firmly behind them. The only sign through the whole thing of Jim noticing the disturbance is a single flick of his pointed ears.

 

-/-

 

Before anything else, once Claire’s trekked her way into the city proper, she does two things.

One: locate a Starbucks.

“White chocolate mocha, please,” she tells the barista. “Double shot, too.”

“Would you like whip cream on that?”

“As much as you can fit. With chocolate drizzle.”

“Will that be everything?”

A nudge to the middle of Claire’s back, and she replies, “One skinny vanilla latte, too, please. And two croissants.”

If the young man at the cash register is wondering why she’s buying drinkable desserts so early in the morning, never mind doubles of everything, he doesn’t speak up about it. Claire pays with cash and waits briefly for their drinks; keeping to the side of the room with a wall at her back, watching the morning rush of coffee addicts flow through.

Once back outside, half a block from the shop, Claire stops walking. Her backpack unzips of its own accord and a green arm reaches out of it, making grabby gestures.

“Does caffeine even affect trolls?” Claire asks as she hands the latte to Notenrique. His weight shifts as he takes it, standing inside the backpack and putting an arm around her shoulders to steady himself while they resume walking. “I mean, your biology is totally different from humans’.”

“It does,” Notenrique says, and then greedily sucks down a gulp of his sweet coffee. Smacking his lips, he continues, “Just don’t do it for the same reasons.”

“How’s it work?”

“Hell if I know. I’m an infiltration expert, not a scientist.”

“It’s your own biology.”

“So? D’you know everything about what makes you tick?” He takes another long draw of his drink, then letting out a happy sigh. “God. Coffee is one of the best inventions humans ever made.”

“Amen to that,” Claire agrees, finally taking a sip of her own. A wave of sweetness, bitterness, and creaminess hits her tongue, and she lets out a sigh as happy as Notenrique’s. It’s nice to have human food again.

They move onto the second step of their day’s plan: stopping by a pawnshop.

“Look, you I both know you’re trying to undersell this right now.” Claire taps a nail against the sparkling, chunky gold necklace on the counter between them. Its huge rubies glint in the fluorescents of the shop, bigger than her thumbnail. “This right here? I figure it’s worth over five thousand easily. Maybe even up to ten thousand. All I’m asking for is a clean three thousand. Three point five to be really fair. It’s a steal and you know it.”

The pawnshop owner wipes her brow, looking harried and uncomfortable. “Where’d you say you got this again?”

“I didn’t,” Claire replies. She gives the woman a sweet smile. “But, since you asked. I got it from a relative of mine. Extended family, three times removed- it’s made its way through our tree and ended up with me. Don’t worry about looking up stolen items in the area and finding it listed- it’s a hundred percent mine.”

She takes a sip of her mocha while the shopkeeper sweats a little more.

The woman caves half a minute later, bustling off to withdraw from her safe somewhere in the back. Claire hears Notenrique chuckle inside her backpack, and Claire’s lips twist into a self-satisfied smirk.

Claire gets a thick wad of bills handed to her a few minutes later, and she thumbs it slowly, a little disbelieving that she really is holding three point five thousand dollars in her hands right now. Still, Claire has gotten fairly good at keeping up an act, so she just politely says thank you. It was very nice of the woman to even accommodate Claire’s condition of cash only transaction.

“Lemme see that green,” Notenrique demands barely as they’re over the threshold. He’s unzipped Claire’s backpack again and stuck out his arm for the cash wad.

Claire is happy to hand over the heavy feeling bills. Notenrique trades them for his coffee while he counts, rapidly flipping through and mumbling numbers to himself. He smacks the cash against his palm when he’s done, announcing, “’s all here. She didn’t short change us.”

“Good. I didn’t wanna have to go back and stand in front of a security camera again like that. I think it’s a little suspicious for a teenager to pawn something that valuable.”

“Hey now, it was a _gift._ Ain’t nothin’ suspicious about that.”

“Maybe not to trolls, but it’s weird for humans.”

Notenrique scoffs. Claire smiles fondly. “Thanks again for the necklace.”

“Eh, it wasn’t my style anyway,” Notenrique says, like they didn’t just sell off an incredibly expensive and beautiful piece of jewelry. Which he’d given her after scampering into another of his boltholes before they left the Trollmarket, emerging with it and giving Claire a minor heart attack at seven in the morning.

“Where’d you even get it from?” Claire asks as she picks a street, hunting for a subway entrance. She’s still getting the hang of them, so they may run risk of getting lost. But, if there’s any time for an adventure in New Jersey’s metropolis, it’d be today.

“Gift from a friend.”

“Which friend?”

“A friend that don’t want anyone _knowin’_ we’re friends.”

Claire almost pauses. She keeps walking anyway, the both of them ignoring any double takes at the small green thing in her backpack. New Jersey, Claire has quickly discovered, has more important things to care about than a teenager and her weird talking animal.

“Did you just give me a gift that was given to you as hush money?”

“You really wanna ask that question?”

“I- _why?”_

“Not everyone wants it gettin’ ‘round that they’ve kept company with me for a day.”

Claire processes that statement for a moment. The roundabout to what Notenrique is telling her finally clicks.

“…Oh my god.”

Notenrique laughs at her.

 

-/-

 

For the rest of the morning, they train hop until they find a decent shopping district. It’s one with rows of boutiques and small businesses, so it suits Claire’s needs fine. She has a whole day to kill and wants to be so preoccupied with her shopping quest that she can’t think of anything else.

The caffeine she’s had is buzzing in her skull and veins. It’s a good sensation. It means without a doubt, she’s awake right now.

Claire suspects she might become a true caffeine addict before she gets over her issues, but hey. There are worse things to form a dependency on. After all, caffeine is the number one drug on the market; wholly embraced by the entire world. It’s not like she isn’t following family tradition, either. Claire knows her mom starts her days with a double shot espresso and has another two before she comes home, late in the evening.

The usual aftertaste of bitterness about her mom’s absence doesn’t come today. Instead, it’s just more homesickness, even for the brief moments Claire would see her mom each evening.

Claire buys half a dozen high quality socks to bury those feelings. Notenrique snacks on them while they move onto the next shop; complaining that while the fabric and stitch type is delicious, it lacks the tang of sweat needed to make it perfect. Claire promises they’ll swing through a thrift shop later for used socks.

Claire comes to realize, as lunchtime rolls around, that spending over three thousand dollars is a more daunting task than she imagined. She has enough to book a first-class flight home, replace her wardrobe there, and then fly back out to New Jersey- and still have plenty leftover to last her afterwards.

The ridiculous idea of actually _doing_ that clutches at Claire for a moment longer than it should. She forces herself to shake it off, guilty once again. She made a promise to be there for Jim; that no matter what happened she’d be by his side. A little bit of loneliness and homesickness shouldn’t break the integrity of that promise.

Notenrique, somehow picking up on her melancholy thoughts, announces he’s bored of shop crawling and demands they do something else for a while. The distraction is sorely needed, and much appreciated.

They end up in a bookstore café, tucked up in a corner of the far, far back on the second floor. Claire feels at ease the second she steps inside, welcomed by the calm and comfort the shelves upon shelves of books always bring her.

She nibbles on some biscuits they bought downstairs, thumbing through a well-worn paperback. Notenrique, having already devoured his share of the biscuits, is curled up on her lap. His steady breathing is in time with hers on and off; very faint snoring occasionally making it past his under bite teeth. Whenever he does start snoring, Claire puts down her biscuits and starts running her fingers along his scruff; nails digging against the tough skin under the hair. Her ministrations change the snoring into purring, and they settle back into relative quiet.

By mid-afternoon, she’s finished half the novel and has cramping legs and a sore back. Rousing Notenrique, she stands up to stretch, popping her back and sighing. Notenrique bows in a long, cattish stretch, yawning widely. He climbs back into her bag without prompt, zipping it up and seeming to go right back to napping.

Claire carefully pulls her backpack on, minding how she jostles him. Taking with her the three books she wants to buy, they head back downstairs. Stepping out onto the street afterwards, she’s greeted with sunny weather.

Claire inhales slowly, and exhales with a soft smile. She loves the Trollmarket, she really does, but… humans are, inherently speaking, surface creatures. She’s never appreciated a blue sky as much as she does now.

She takes them to the thrift store she promised Notenrique, dropping a few of her purchases off in the donations box out front. She doesn’t need much in the way of nice clothes right now, with how much of her work involves getting dirty. Claire has money to burn, too, so giving away expensive blouses and pants… she feels like she’s accomplishing something worthwhile. Someone needs them more than her undoubtedly, and Claire prefers t-shirts and soft jeans anyway.

As they browse the mostly empty aisles- barely another five people in the store- Claire finally finds herself ready to start talking about her relationship problems. It’s not with Notenrique, though, seeing as he’s soundly sleeping in her backpack still.

“ _Oh hey, one of you is awake at a normal hour for once,”_ is the first thing Toby says when he answers his phone. Claire rolls her eyes, laughing.

“Not all of us have school anymore, Toby.”

“ _And aren’t you both lucky assholes.”_

Claire chooses to not say how much she’s come to miss school, or to keep talking about the subject in general. It wouldn’t be sensitive to how Toby is stuck in Arcadia, despite how much he wanted to come with them.

Claire misses him, honestly. In the recent months they’ve gotten really close; partially out of necessity, partially because, as it turned out, Toby is genuinely fun to spend time with. When she tells him as much, Toby fumbles only for a moment before replying, “ _Well, you’re not so bad to hang out with either, dude.”_

They do small talk for a while. Claire makes her way through the women’s active wear section as Toby tells her about what’s going on back home. The goblin infestations seem to be dying down, and the work fixing the canal’s collapsed road is finally completed. Also, the townspeople are handling the influx of paranormal enthusiasts flocking to Arcadia fairly well, though they’re keeping their mouths shut about the trolls and Gunmar.

“ _You would not_ believe _how many people have been arrested for trespassing lately,”_ Toby tells her. “ _Darci’s dad is like, going at a hundred and ten percent constantly.”_

“Are you one of the people who’s been arresting for trespassing?” Claire asks, lips in a teasing grin. “We _did_ do a lot of that…”

“ _Not yet. Hero cred gets you some leeway with the law- though I think me dating the law’s daughter negates some of it.”_

“Speaking of the law’s daughter, how are you and Darci doing?”

Toby sighs and goes quiet for a few moments. Claire sorts through the sports bras on the rack, reminded of the fact that her wire ones have been mysteriously stripped of their wires. Notenrique snores on guiltlessly against her spine.

“ _…Are you gonna be mad if I say not well?”_ Toby says hesitantly. “ _I mean, she was your friend before she was my girlfriend…”_

Claire puts her shopping on hold, redirecting her full attention to Toby. “I wouldn’t be mad, Toby. You’re both my friends. I care about _both_ of your happiness. What’s the problem?”

“ _It’s just- things were great, like_ really _great for a while there, but now… I feel like it’s not so great anymore? We, uh. We don’t really share many interests, actually, and her dad still doesn’t like me, and uh…. Darci’s family are pretty devote Catholics. They don’t really mesh with Judaism much. And it’s not that they say anything bad! They’re great, really. They just… don’t get it.”_

Claire’s heart aches for him. She’d been happy for the two of them; they’d gotten along so well, and she’d loved spending time all together like they did. “Aw, Toby. I’m sorry.”

“ _Me too,”_ he replies sullenly.

Claire leans onto the hangers of the rack, fabric covered plastic biting her arm. And so they’ve arrived back at relationship talk, along the same vein of issue Claire herself is dealing with.

“Well, if it’s any comfort, things for me and Jim… I don’t think it’s all that great at the moment, either.”

“ _How come?”_ Toby asks, concern clear in his voice. “ _Did you guys have a fight or something?”_

Claire lets out a harsh sigh. “ _No,_ it’s just- ugh. It’s dumb. I feel really shitty about it, but I’m feeling sort of lonely, okay? Which is stupidly selfish of me considering that I _knew_ what I was signing up for, here. Jim’s… Jim has more to worry about than just our relationship. He’s got Trollhunter duties twenty-four hours a day. Things aren’t how they used to be; I can’t expect him to spend as much time with me as before, and I can’t expect him to act like-”

She stops. The poisonous words hover unspoken in her throat.

Toby knows what she means anyway.

“ _Act like he used to. Yeah. I know.”_ Toby sounds sad as he says that, and Claire feels terrible for being comforted by his mutual feelings about this. “ _Maybe I’m not like, physically there right now to see it firsthand, but I’ve been noticing stuff when we talk on the phone. He really is different now, huh?”_

“Yeah,” Claire says quietly, guiltily. “He is different.”

_“Do you… Are you gonna… you know.”_

“No. I’m not breaking up with him.”

“ _Oh. Good. He cares a lot about you, you know that, right?”_

“Of course. And I care a lot about him, too. I _want_ this- _us-_ to work, Toby. I promise. I’m not gonna walk out on him after crossing the entire country to stay _with_ him.”

Toby lets out a laugh that sounds only slightly strained. Claire stands up from her slouch against the hangers and rubs at her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump this all on you. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

“ _Uh, ironically speaking? I really don’t. I’m bored as fuck, Claire. There’s practically nothing happening here. I have time to talk about you and Jim. Like, plenty of time. And a slightly weird eagerness, too.”_

Claire manages to laugh. “We miss you too, Toby. Like, crazy amounts of miss you.”

“ _Good, ‘cause if I was the only one feeling like this I’d be offended.”_

Claire hears a vulnerability to those words. A hint at deeper feelings on the subject of them leaving Toby behind. More than anything right now, she wishes Toby was here with them. She wishes they’d taken him along the journey to New Jersey- fuck whatever happened in Arcadia without a Trollhunter.

Toby sounds genuinely surprised when she exclaims that all, words rushed and harsh. Claire is a little surprised herself. Apparently, she’s got a backlog of unresolved feelings about the subject, too.

“You’d be able to get through to him,” Claire says to Toby, aimlessly wandering through the men’s section. Jim needs more pants; he keeps ripping his at the knees. “If you were here, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be having any problems. Or at least a lot less.”

“ _I dunno. He never lets me talk about serious stuff on the phone, and… he’s kept stuff from me, even before this. Jim kept a lot of things from everyone, really.”_

The two weeks of Jim’s venture into the Darklands doesn’t need to be mentioned. They’re both well aware of that event and its fallout.

“Still. You’ve known him way longer, Toby. I’m just… I only got to know him in the past months. It hasn’t even been a full year yet. I just-” Claire grasps for the words. “I just can’t read him sometimes! He never tells me when he’s having a hard time, and I can’t figure it out on my own, either. I don’t… My family doesn’t do overly touchy-feely stuff, and Darci and Mary were the more emotional ones in our group. I don’t have the experience to solve whatever’s going on with him. And I feel like shit about it.”

Claire has to stop and breathe for a minute. Her eyes are stinging and she refuses to start crying in the middle of the store.

“ _Claire- it’s not your fault. No one is expecting you to be perfect with this. I’ve known Jim basically my whole life; I know better than anyone that he hates putting anything on anyone. He’ll go out of his way to help every other person, but like, fucking_ sucks _at letting anyone help_ him.”

Claire swipes at her eyes, not letting herself sniffle. “ _I’m_ expecting myself to be better than this, Toby. I promised I’d support him.”

“ _And you’re doing an awesome job. An amazing one. Better than I am right now, anyway.”_

“You’re on the other side of the country. You can’t seriously expect to be able to-”

“ _-telepathically read Jim’s thoughts just by thinking about him really hard? True. But you can’t expect yourself to do that, either. I… I’ve figured out that sometimes the only thing you can do with him is stop pushing. Just hang onto him and let him explain what’s happening when he’s ready.”_

“And what if he never explains? What if he’s never ready? Toby- he still hasn’t ever told us what happened in the Darklands. _Or_ about when he… when he accepted Merlin’s magic potion or whatever.”

“ _Yeah, I… I know. I know.”_

They’re both silent for a pause; sharing the stress and worry they both feel for Jim. Their amazing, incredible, fantastically frustrating friend.

“I guess we can just hope for the best, huh?” Claire offers wryly.

Toby huffs a humorless laugh. “ _Probably. See if you can get Blinky in on it, maybe he can get through to Jim. Since… you know. Jim’s a little closer to troll than human right now. Maybe we need a troll to do what we… can’t.”_

“Yeah, I guess so.”

That admittance hurts, but it’s true. As it stands, they just can’t provide what Jim needs. Not completely, anyway.

Moving on from Jim and the dysfunction of their three part friendship right now, Claire asks Toby if he wants to talk about Darci and their relationship. Toby sounds like he’d rather do anything else in the world, but agrees.

Though they’re both on opposite ends of America, they’re trying to keep supporting each other anyway. They’re Jim’s backup and each other’s. They’re a _team,_ and a little thing like being miles and miles of distance from one another isn’t going to change that.

Notenrique wakes up towards the end of Claire and Toby’s rambling conversation. He gives a gruff hello to Toby through Claire, before poking the back of Claire’s neck and ordering her path towards the bags of socks for sale. Toby lets her go at that point; saying he needs to get homework done anyway.

“It was good talking to you. I’m a little lonely out here, you know?”

“ _And I’m a little lonely back here. Yeah, it was good talking with you. You’ll be alright, right?”_

“’course. It’s not like being the Trollhunter’s girlfriend hasn’t made me a disaster magnet or anything. I’ll be fine.”

“ _You say this like I’m not also a disaster magnet by being his best friend.”_

“You literally were complaining about being bored out of your mind earlier.”

“ _Small disasters are kind of underwhelming after you stop the end of the world, okay?”_

“Oh my god. _Bye,_ Toby.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, goodbye to you too, Claire.”_

They hang up at the same time. Feeling better about her life’s struggles, Claire goes sock shopping with Notenrique with a new spring in her step. Heart and thoughts lighter than they’ve been in a while.

 

-/-

 

They get back down to the market just as early evening rolls around. Claire struggles a little under the weight of her bags, but manages to keep her balance in the steep tunnels down. There have been other priorities to take care of, so proper steps haven’t been carved into them yet. Along with actual stairways, Claire just hopes the gyre tunnels get finished sometime _soon;_ getting Toby and Arrrgh to New Trollmarket would probably fix a lot of things. They’ve been stuck in the ‘planning stages’ for _weeks_ , and frankly Claire just doesn’t get why it’s so hard to just dig a god damn _hole._

Notenrique’s cackling at her frustrations echoes up and down the tunnel, his claws clacking against the rocks as he jumps around to keep pace with her.

They end up parting ways halfway back to Blinky’s cave. He says that while she’s his sis and he’s had a great time today, he wants to get back to the social scene of the resuming parties. Claire fondly scolds him for abandoning her, and he scoffs and huffs like she’s really offended him.

She manages to get a brief hug out of him before he leaves; Notenrique’s grumbling about it a now very familiar part of their routine.

Claire stumbles into the cave soon after, lugging her bags in between the stacks of boxes _still_ clogging the entry. Blinky is puttering around in the kitchen as she does, and hurries to help her. Four arms are definitely useful when it comes to carrying things, that’s for sure.

“Go wake young master Jim, won’t you?” Blinky asks as he sets her purchases on the now clean table. He’s been tidying up, given how the amount of mess has decreased significantly.

“Sure,” Claire says, headed for the hallway. “Are we doing something already tonight?”

“As I said yesterday, Claire. Troll parties are not for the faint of heart! There will still be celebrations at least until tomorrow afternoon. And we were not as present as we could have been yesterday; _tonight,_ we should better set examples for the citizens of Trollmarket. Lead them as our duties dictate we should. _Mingle,_ you might say.”

Claire hums an acknowledgement to the speech. She’s mostly recovered from her hangover, and feels refreshed from her trip aboveground today, but still. She doesn’t feel up to another long night of partying. Especially since she slept through most of the last one and then was up all day. If anything, Claire would like an evening in and then to be asleep before midnight.

Of course, it’s not really about what she wants. It’s what the market needs, above all else. Claire wishes she could be more irresponsible and blow it all off- or at least be able to tempt Jim into taking a few hours off, before he goes back out into the world. She’d swallow any complaints and just drink some of the instant coffee she bought today, if only Jim would slow down and just _relax_ for once.

Claire is formulating a plan of how to ask that, but in a more politely worded manner, as she reaches her room. “Jim?” she says gently, pushing aside the curtain. “It’s time to get up n-”

Eyes flash in the dim of the room and an inhuman screech rings out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> claire time did not end well B(


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not the Trollhunter today. I’m just me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! if you thought i was going to make amends to the previous chapter's content............... no. no i am. it gets worse and i'm only partially sorry. also! content warnings come after this so if you don't want minor spoilers, don't look!
> 
>  
> 
> ===///tw for nightmares, character death, panic attacks, and disassociation///===

Jim beats the whisk in the batter with sharp flicks of his wrist, the familiar movements easy. The stove beeps behind him, and he sets the large bowl gently on the counter; bending down to check on the large roasting turkey in the oven. The wave of heat from the open door stings his eyes for a moment, prickling across his skin and raising goosebumps.

Almost done. Another few minutes and it’ll be perfect. He has to keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn’t burn. If it burns then this is all ruined.

He goes back to whisking, then pours the batter into a muffin tin. His cheater biscuits are always a hit; the buttery, flaky texture utterly delicious. Jim sets them on top of the stove, ready to be put in when the turkey is done- but, wait, the biscuits won’t be ready in time this way, the turkey and everything will be on the table and there won’t be any _biscuits-_

Jim takes the steaming biscuits out of the oven, smiling to himself. Perfect. He checks the timer on the turkey roaster, noting he has another ten minutes before its done. He can’t let it burn. He has to remember to keep checking to make sure it doesn’t burn.

“Who feels like appetizers?” Jim asks cheerily, coming around the corner into the dining room. He has a bowl of biscuits in one hand and a bowl of little metal figurines in the other. His mom’s face lights up at the biscuits, and Arrrgh’s hand is already reaching for the figurines before its even on the table.

“They’re _perfect_ ,” says his mom, biting into one of the baked goods. “You’re magic in the kitchen, Jim.”

“I concur!” Blinky enthuses, popping a biscuit and figurine both into his mouth. Nomura, sat a little away from everyone else, nods as she nibbles on a biscuit of her own. That’s high praise from the changeling, the way she’s smiling as she reaches for a second.

Jim smiles at them all, stomach fluttering with happiness. Almost everyone he cares about, right here in his home. “Thanks- I’m just happy to have people to eat what I make.”

“Always,” Arrrgh laughs. Jim laughs, too; he can’t remember a single time his large friend ever turned down a snack from him.

Jim remembers the turkey and hurries from the dining room, leaving the adults to talk happily over the appetizers. Jim just hopes there’ll be enough for Claire and Toby when they get here- they’re late, and he might end up having to make more. Oh well. He loves them. He doesn’t mind; he’d make a hundred extra biscuits for them if they asked.

The timer is still going. Fifteen minutes. Jim has time to toss the salad and finish the gravy and mashed potatoes on the stovetop. As he is, heavy steps come up from the basement, and he turns to smile at the thick ornate horns emerging from the carefully opened door.

“Trollhunter,” Draal greets, a teasing grin already on his face. He minds the delicacy of the human house he lives in as he comes over, towering over everything, including Jim.

“We’re on holiday, you don’t need to call me that,” Jim says, tilting his chin up to meet Draal’s eyes. “I’m not the Trollhunter today. I’m just me.”

“But that is also the Trollhunter,” Draal points out, and reaches to ruffle Jim’s dark hair with his big hand.

Jim frowns a little, worming his way out of the noogie. A feeling squirms in his chest, uncomfortable. He settles on shrugging; Draal is right, he supposes. Jim doesn’t get to stop being the Trollhunter, even when he’s at home.

“Arrrgh’s going to eat all your appetizers if you don’t hurry,” Jim warns, changing the topic. Draal guffaws and calls out loudly at Arrrgh as he leaves; demanding his share of pre-dinner snacks.

Jim checks the turkey again, he can’t let it burn. Five minutes. He’s almost out of time. The potatoes and gravy are put into nice bowls and he sets them aside, along with the rest of the biscuits, and goes to get out the can of cranberry sauce that’s been chilling in the fridge. Dessert is on the rack above it; a pristine pumpkin pie Jim made himself the day prior. He’ll excuse himself before dinner is done to whip whipping cream, and get out the ice-cream, too.

He hurriedly puts the bowls of other food on the table, scolding Blinky for the bites he’s taken out of his fork and knife. Jim takes the ruined cutlery back into kitchen, leaving it on the counter to be dealt with later while he gets replacements. The turkey’s timer is at twelve minutes. Where’s Claire and Toby? They can’t start without them.

Jim goes to get the cranberry sauce and condiments off the counter, stopping briefly to indulge himself by licking the wooden spoon he’d used to empty the berries out of their can. His teeth bite through it and he feels splinters pierce his tongue.

Jim hisses and spits out the pieces, wiping at his mouth as iron tang hits his senses. He winces and hates himself for doing that, taking his hand away to look at the smear of blood against his grey skin. It looks ugly, like a stain on concrete.

He tries to get the rest of the splinters out of his mouth, retching into the sink. Just spittle comes out, as Jim realizes he’s swallowed the sharp slivers of wood. He grimaces, sore tongue running over his fangs.

The turkey’s timer goes off. He startles away from his thoughts and quickly goes to get it out. Did he burn it? No, it’s fine, the breast is a nice even brown. Jim frowns at it, however, as he realizes it might be too small to feed everyone. Even though it reaches the edges of the special serving plate it’s on, Jim looks at it and finds himself thinking it would only be enough for one person- probably just him.

He feels terrible. He can’t just eat all the turkey and leave none for his family. Jim decides he won’t eat anything at all; that way everyone else can have their fill. He doesn’t need it, he can just make more later.

“Turkey’s done!” Jim says as he enters the dining room, setting the large plate down on the table. “Now we’re just waiting on Toby and Claire… Did they get here yet?” He glances up when he gets no response, and finds everyone staring at him silently. Jim’s ears press backwards. “What? Is it not enough?”

“We won’t eat that,” Blinky says, his many eyes glancing at the turkey. “That’s not for trolls, Jim.”

“What? Why? I- I know it’s not really the portion size you’re used to, but I’m not gonna eat any, so maybe-”

“Of course you won’t eat it. We don’t eat those things, Jim.”

Jim stops, suddenly looking down at himself and seeing how much smaller the table is than it used to be. The utensils are tiny next to his hands, and the human dinner he’s made doesn’t look edible anymore. Not to him.

He tries to smile, heart aching. “That’s okay,” Jim says, “I don’t need to eat. And I’ll just go get whatever you and Arrrgh and Nomura and-”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Nomura says, abruptly standing and stalking out.

“Wait- no, please, you have to stay-!” Jim’s hand misses hers as she passes by and then she’s gone, and Jim can’t chase after her right now because what about everyone else? Toby and Claire aren’t here yet, he can’t leave before they arrive. And he has to feed everyone else, too-

“I can’t eat this either, Jim,” says his mom, and Jim whirls, panic clutching at his chest. She gives him a miserable smile, her eyes wet behind her glasses. “You made it wrong, sweetie.”

Jim looks down at the turkey. Its blackened and charred. The panic in his chest gets worse, and he stutters out, “No- no I made it _right,_ I worked so hard on everything, it was _perfect._ ” He grabs a knife and cuts into it, babbling, “Look if we just cut off the burnt parts, its fine, see? It’s not ruined, we can save it still-”

The knife slices deep into the bird and red juice pours out onto the table cloth, pooling around the plate and getting larger. The raw meat inside is bloody and bright, warm against his fingers. The smell of it all hits Jim’s nose and his mouth waters.

“I can’t eat that,” says his mom, and- and she’s right, she can’t, Jim messed up so badly this time.

“You cooked it, so we can’t either,” says Blinky, and Arrrgh nods. Jim looks for Draal to help him fix this, offer a solution- but he finds his friend’s seat empty.

Jim trembles. A thin, terrible whine comes out of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking the knife away from the turkey and backing up. The stares of his family follow him, disappointed. Jim’s eyes are stinging. “I- I’m sorry, I can do better, just let me-”

“Whoa, what happened here?” asks Toby, and Jim’s chest is suddenly filled with desperate hope. He turns to see Claire and Toby coming into the room, finally here for dinner. If they’re here, if he has them with him, things will be okay. Everything will turn out okay as long as they stick together.

“You’ll eat some of this, right?” Jim asks, gesturing to the biscuits and potatoes and salad-

Claire quirks an eyebrow. Toby gives a dubious look.

“No,” Toby says. “We can’t eat that.”

“It’s not right for us,” Claire adds.

“B-but some of it is okay! I made sure, it’s supposed to be for all of y-” Jim cuts off, staring at the table.

The bowls are all empty. The turkey is gone. His mom and Blinky and Arrrgh have all vanished. The dining room is deserted.

“No,” Jim whispers, clutching the carving knife tighter in his hand. “No, _no_ , this was supposed to be perfect, I worked so _hard!”_

No one answers his frustrated cries. Jim looks for Toby and Claire, and he finds that they’ve disappeared like everyone else.

Jim’s shoulders sag, and he can’t stop the wail that comes out of him, sharp and animalistic in grief. He needs them back. He can’t be alone. He _needs them._

He runs through his house, to the door, throwing it open and preparing to run after them. A gust of wind hits him and he stumbles, grit scraping his skin and the scent of overturned earth in the air. Jim only opens his eyes again when it’s bearable, and a scene of destruction greets him.

Arcadia is in ruins. Buildings crumbling and streets cracked in half. Cars are flipped and burning, broken pipes leaking everywhere, downed telephone poles sparking dangerously. Jim pants, sides burning, as he sees glowing green eyes open all around him.

The thud of weapons and feet against the ground is thunderous. The chant of the enslaved trolls- willing and unwilling- swells up and over Jim. He stands his ground, raising Eclipsed Daylight in his hand and pointing its long blade at his enemies.

Jim means to speak, but his thoughts are tangled, so all he can do is growl in threat. This is his town. This is his _home._ His sword and armor are heavy with purpose, spurring him forwards at the soldiers coming his way.

They crack and break under his strikes. Stone like skin becomes true stone, over and over, as Jim cuts his ways through the mob. He’s unstoppable, he’s unbeatable- he’s been honed to defeat their leader above all else and they can’t even _compare._

Jim breaks through the wall of bodies and Gunmar rises up ahead of him. The troll laughs at him, lightning glowing across his skin and filling him with stolen power. Jim’s own armor glows brighter, _burns_ brighter- the red light of the eclipse in the sky is the same as the one that pours out of him.

It fuels his unending fury- the overpowering anger that Gunmar has brought all this terror and pain to _Jim’s home._ Jim is no longer just himself, this is no longer just his own anger. He is the vessel of _everyone’s_ desire for vengeance, an end to the war and an end to _Gunmar._

Jim roars as Gunmar does, charging at the hulking monster and clashing blades. Jim’s stance almost falters, but he doesn’t let it, he _will win,_ he can’t let himself lose. He’s given up everything about himself for the sake of everyone else and he _refuses to fail now._

They break apart, winding back up, and Jim charges again.

This time, his sword hits flesh.

Jim breathes raggedly, standing slowly and lowering Daylight. The sound of Gunmar’s knees hitting the ground fills him with vicious victory- a sickening emotion of cruel satisfaction that Gunmar is going to finally die at his hands.

Jim turns to watch the troll turn to stone, but chokes as he meets betrayed blue eyes.

“Why?” Draal asks, clutching the huge gash in his chest. Crystals peek through, deep blue fluid leaking down his skin.

“I- _NO!”_ Jim yells, reeling, trying to drop his sword but unable to. “I- I didn’t do that! It was supposed to be _him!”_

Draal takes a stumbling step backwards on the roof. The shingles under his feet crack and threaten to give. “How could you?” Draal gasps, darkness creeping outwards from his wound. “I- _f-fought_ for you, I c-cared-”

Jim surges forwards as Draal teeters backwards. “No, no you _can’t_ - _!”_ Jim grabs his friend, hauling him away from the edge, and Draal lets out a horrible noise of pain.

The world becomes static in Jim’s ears as he stands there, frozen as he stares at his own hands. At his sword piercing clean through Draal’s chest.

Draal takes a shuddering, shallow breath, and then goes stiff as his body turns to stone. Jim can’t speak. His body shakes, confusion and horror wracking it.

It’s as Draal’s body crumbles to dust that Jim begins to wail.

He drops to his knees, sword finally falling from his hand as he grabs at the chunks of stone. “No, no- you can’t, you _can’t,”_ he sobs, pushing the broken pieces together. Like he can make his friend whole again just by wanting it. “Draal, Draal _please,_ I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

The chunks turned to sand in his hands and Jim can’t stop the grains from pouring out between his fingers. The armor won’t even let him feel the remains of his friend, sealing him up in its metal, and Jim hunches over the sand as he screams.

Jim hears more stone cracking and breaking nearby, thumps of bodies along with it. He snaps his eyes up just in time to see Blinky and Arrgh and Nomura and Strickler- all of them, falling to pieces and eroding to sand. The sand is quickly soaked by the pools it falls into, blood swallowing the fine grit and continuing to spread outwards.

Jim meets the glassy eyes of his mom, Claire, Toby- all of them, splayed out on the ground. Dead.

And he feels a part of him break completely.

The eclipsed sun burns in the sky above, illuminating the peaks of jagged cliffs all around him. Jim’s screams echo off their walls, off the crystals and broken buildings shattered against them. The Darklands swallow Arcadia whole; shadows spreading and engulfing everything. The only light comes from the armor and the sword. Red and hateful, casting a glow over Jim’s hands that only highlights the blood which covers them.

Jim wrenches himself backwards away from it- from Draal’s remains, from the pools of blood, from _Daylight-_ and hits a wall. He scrabbles against it, fingers leaving scratches as he sucks in shallow breaths.

He’s in the dark again. He never left the dark. He never escaped and he failed and he’ll _always be here._ He drops closer to the ground, kicking at the things that are near him- he doesn’t know what they are, he just needs _space._ It clatters and falls away, knocking into a stack of something and sending it falling, too.

He winces- noises attracts predators, attracts _danger._ He presses against the wall, away from the glowing blade, away from the darkness surrounding him. He’s too big, he feels awkward and oversized- it’ll be so much easier for enemies to find him like this, unable to conceal himself anymore.

His sides heave, the desire to run and hide overwhelming. But- he doesn’t know where he is, what’s waiting around the corner to attack him- he needs to get to his cave, to relative safety. He needs to get away from the red glow that’s exposing his location for anyone to see.

He realizes the glow is coming from him.

He grabs at it immediately, pulling. It doesn’t give, cold metal remaining wrapped around his limbs. His breathing picks up even faster, heart thundering in his chest as he whines in terror. He needs it off, bad things happen when its on, he knows that if the armor is on him it means he’s in danger which means he _never left this place-_

He feels one of his nails break as he claws at himself, desperation overriding pain. He can’t think, can’t speak- he needs it off, he needs it off, _he_ _needs it off-_

Light suddenly floods his vision and he screeches, dropping back down and baring his teeth at whatever’s come to hunt him.

A figure- small, lean, but that’s no way to gauge its threat level, _anything_ here could kill him- stands in the light’s path. It makes noises, sounds, all of which sound like he’s hearing them from underwater. He presses even harder against the wall, the metal wrapped around him screeching against the stone as he hisses, a growl rolling out of him.

The figure keeps making noises, and then tries to come near him.

He lowers his horns, a final warning- he’s so scared, it’s coming towards him, he can’t run and he can’t hide- and the figure keeps coming closer, though it slows a little before it reaches him. It keeps making noises. Low ones, slow ones- he doesn’t understand them, shaking all over as the figure extends a hand at him.

The hand touches him and he- _snaps._ The coiled spring of fight or flight reflexes in him abruptly reacts, and he doesn’t even consciously choose to lash out. The figure is knocked away regardless, rolling on the floor and struggling to right itself. He rises a little, hands free to lash out a second time if it tries to get close again, and he _snarls_ at the figure, loud and angry and terrified. He wants it to go away- he wants to _run away,_ but he doesn’t know where he is, _where is he_ -

The light that’s stinging his eyes is suddenly blocked by a huge figure. He howls at it and blindly runs- hitting another wall and thrashing against it, knocking more objects away from himself as he snarls and keens. He just wants to hide, to _escape,_ but he can’t, he _can’t._

The small figure is making sounds again, frantic and scared- _good,_ he thinks, because if it’s scared then maybe it’ll _leave him alone-_ and then the bigger figure answers, moving into the room. He snarls again at it, but his threat is nearly unheard as the big figure shouts at the small figure, a heavy warning growl following the bellow.

The small figure retreats back out through the light. The big figure remains.

It moves towards him.

He screeches and suddenly the sword is in his hands, heavy and deadly and _right-_ but so wrong- pointed at the figure as it advances. His arms tremble as he holds it out, heady terror choking him as he makes his stand.

The figure comes close enough that he reacts and swipes at it, blade slashing through the air in a sloppy arc. The figure grabs the blade in its many hands and wrenches it from his grip- leaving him defenseless once again. He cries out hoarsely, energy used up and hope failing.

The figure says something- it’s _speaking,_ not noises, _speaking, talking-_ and reaches out slowly as it crouches next to him. He flinches away, pressing against the wall and knocking his horns painfully against it. As the first hand touches him he lashes out once more- landing a heavy enough blow that the figure stumbles, nearly falling backwards.

It doesn’t hit him back for it, just sits up again and reaches out a second time.

He thrashes as he’s drawn closer, kicking and howling- the figure doesn’t let him escape, though, and eventually is holding him against its chest. The four arms keep him there securely, even as he cries and keens, _begging_ to be let go of.

There’s a period of panic filled time where everything is still blurry and incomprehensible. It might be minutes, might be moments, before he notices the soothing reverberation of sound coming from the person holding him. It rises and falls, steady as waves against a shore. A hand pets his hair and scruff, fingers tangling the strands as they massage his neck.

Jim blinks, eyes sticky with tears. He takes a shuddering breath and feels the chest he’s held against copy.

He shivers as someone presses their face to his crown, breath gusting over his scalp. A shift in their positions, and a pair of horns knock against Jim’s with gentle precision. A low, concerned croon comes from the one holding him, and Jim realizes it’s Blinky.

When… and why? What happened, why are they-

Jim catches sight of metal glinting on his body, of the red light still glowing between its segments- and he jerks away, trying to claw at the armor and get it _off._ He didn’t call it, didn’t _want_ it- why is it here, why is it _suffocating him-_

“ _Shh,_ Jim- do not try to injure yourself further. You are safe, son. Shhh… it will be alright, it’s just us, here…”

Tears leak down Jim’s face anew, catching on his jutting fangs as he gasps raggedly. His breathing is too erratic to actually help, like he can’t breathe despite how much his chest is heaving. Jim shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the armor anymore; hiding deeper into darkness inside himself.

Blinky starts rocking him, slowly, and the soothing reverberations return. Jim stays locked up for the longest time, thoughts scrambled and voice gone, but eventually… he calms. His breathing slowly syncs with Blinky’s, and after a time Jim realizes the source of the reverberations is purring, coming from the troll cradling him.

A sharp twinge of wrongness, of alien emotion almost makes him seize up again. Jim is acutely aware of himself- of his body- and how _off_ it all feels. Too big, too heavy. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He keens, shoving his face against his mentor’s chest. Blinky just tucks Jim more firmly under his chin, making soft comforts and telling him it’ll all be alright, he’s going to be okay…

It’s like sinking into a deep lake, quiet and lacking in gravity. Jim loses sense of time, of emotion, of basically everything outside of the deep rumble of Blinky’s purr. He lets the quiet take him. Lets it wash away his pain and fear.

(Jim thinks of the darkest place, darker than the Darklands, of the deafening silence that filled it as he let the water fill his lungs. His sense of self drowning in it, drowning like he was- making way for the energy that would next tear through him, scorching out whatever was left and arcing outwards to burn away the shell of his body, too-)

Jim comes back to reality in pieces. His awareness spreads slowly, easing him back into himself. Jim takes a breath and it comes easily, no tightness to his throat or fluid in his lungs.

A bright light comes from his chest, sweeping across his whole body, and then it retreats back to its source. The amulet slides down Jim’s chest, clattering to the floor. Its internal glow shines on, illuminating the concerned figure leaning over Jim.

“…Blinky?” Jim asks, and it hurts a little to talk.

Blinky’s shoulders slump in relief, a tired smile spreading across his face. “Do you feel better now, Jim?” he asks gently, raising one hand to touch Jim’s cheek. Jim winces as he feels Blinky touch a scrape there.

“I… I think so, yeah.” Jim shifts and Blinky lets him sit up properly, moving away just a little. Just enough to have space to himself, even as they remain sat on the floor together.

“Did something happen, Jim?” Blinky asks, touching his arm. “You were in a terrible state when I found you.”

Jim rubs his face, sluggishly sorting through his memories. His head hurts; an ache radiating from his horns. Images come back to him, aligning to form a recollection of his… “Nightmare. I had a nightmare.”

“Of what?” Blinky sounds worried. Jim hates worrying his friends. “I’ll admit that you retired somewhat early yesterevening, but I assumed… well, that you were feeling alright.”

Jim nods. “I felt fine,” he lies, to Blinky and himself both. “Guess it was just… a freak occurrence. Sorry I reacted so-…”

Other memories surface. Jim sees himself threatening Blinky with his sword and then _attacking him with it._ Jim’s insides twist and knot, guilt and regret filling him.

Blinky, heedless of the fact that Jim could have _killed him_ earlier, begins to pet Jim’s back. “I suppose they happen to the best of us,” Blinky says comfortingly. “Why, when Arrrgh and I first began our cohabitation, we had… we had our fair share of rough days. It took a few decades for things to really settle down; for both of us.”

Jim tilts his head upwards, giving Blinky a curious look. “You guys had nightmares? About what?”

Blinky hums. “A number of things. It was only twenty years after the end of the war, after all. Ah, but never mind that. It’s long in the past, now, and I would think your own nightmares are of greater importance.”

Jim grimaces. The visions in his head edge his thoughts, dark and disquieting. He doesn’t want to talk about what he dreamt up, but… he doubts he’ll get out of this without disclosing at least some of his nightmare.

“…It didn’t make much sense, honestly,” Jim says carefully. “I was making everyone a dinner, but things went wrong and… you all left.”

“Is that all? Your distress made it seem like a much direr dream.”

Jim shakes his head. “No, there’s more. I went looking for you guys- for Claire and Toby- and I ended up back during the… the eclipse. There was fighting, an- and Gunmar showed up, obviously, but then-” Jim cuts off, swallowing the budding shame and anguish in him. He can’t say it. He can’t tell Blinky that part. “And then I was in the Darklands,” he says instead. Jim rubs his arms, hugging himself. “And… you were all dead, too.”

“Ah… yes, that would do it, now wouldn’t it?” Blinky says, tone saddened. He leans forwards to hug Jim, and Jim accepts the hug, sinking into the safety he has, here with his mentor.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says, voice wavering.

Blinky squeezes him tighter. “No need for apology, son. This wasn’t your fault.”

Jim almost shakes his head. He nearly seriously hurt Blinky, he could have _killed_ his own mentor. His adoptive father. And Jim wouldn’t have even realized it until afterwards.

Jim doesn’t want to look at the amulet. He knows that even when he leaves it behind, later, it’ll just appear in his pocket. Like it always does.

He can’t escape it. It’s a part of him, now. And it always will be.

“Still sorry,” Jim mumbles, turning his face towards the cool stone of Blinky’s chest. He puts the amulet out of his mind, focusing on maintaining the baseline he’s only just achieved. Blinky starts purring again, and even though Jim can’t- won’t- _refuses_ to do that himself, coming from Blinky, who has always been a troll… it feels good. It makes Jim feel like he’s truly safe.

Jim hides in that bubble of safety for as long as he can, protected by the bulk of the troll holding him.

 

-/-

 

It takes a while longer, but Jim feels like himself again eventually and can stand up. His mood worsens as he takes in the room they’re in; looking around at the overturned camping bed, the scattered stacks of books, some even torn by wayward limbs…

Jim grimaces deeply at the shallow gouges he’s put in the walls. Now he knows why his horns hurt so much, but that isn’t much of consolation. He gingerly feels the out the other injuries he gave himself- a torn nail, blood already crusting, some bruising to his palms and his head. His horns, obviously.

It could be worse. Even though it’d been making him panic, the armor did its job, like it always does. Jim should count himself lucky, but he just feels slightly ill.

“Come, we can have tea and a snack,” Blinky tells him, steering them towards the half open curtain in the doorway. “Then, if you would be alright with it, I’ll go and inform the council that I won’t be available tonight.”

“Blinky, you don’t have to-”

“Master Jim, respectfully speaking, I sincerely do.”

Jim smiles wryly, knowing he won’t win the argument. “Fine, but I get to make the tea.”

“But of course,” Blinky chuckles, following Jim as they exit the bedroom. Jim almost keeps walking, but pulls up short as he notices a crouching figure in the hall.

Claire whips her head up, startled by their appearance. She’s hugging herself, hair mussed and eyes reddened.

“Jim,” Claire says in a whisper, like his name is breakable thing. She stands quickly but with difficulty, holding one side of her ribcage. “You- you’re okay. Thank god, I was so worried.”

He barely hears her. Jim can’t take his eyes off how she’s holding herself, the evidence of dried tears on Claire’s face- and his memories return in full force, meeting her eyes once again.

He hurt her.

“Jim-”

Jim staggers backwards, not letting Claire touch him. Her face falls, confusion and hurt clear, and Jim- Jim feels the need to run all over again, panic returning for a new reason, and yet the same one.

He hurt Claire.

(He killed Draal.)

“I’m sorry,” Jim hears himself say, but it doesn’t even begin to convey the shrieking emotions inside him. The jagged _wrongness_ tearing at his heart. How could he do this? How could he not recognize _Claire?_ How could he, even for a moment, look at her and think she’s a _threat?_ She’s- she’s his girlfriend, his best friend, she’s incredible in every way he can think of and he loves her with every part of himself that’s capable of love and _he_ _still lashed out and hurt her._

Claire tries to touch him again and Jim flinches all over, backing up further.

“Don’t- don’t touch me,” he says hoarsely, hunching up on himself. “I’m-” _Out of control_ “I don’t want-” _To hurt you_ “I can’t-” _Stop myself_ “I don’t want anyone to- to touch me, okay?”

Claire looks so, so sad. But she nods. She accepts his request and backs away, gathering herself together and making herself even smaller than she already is, compared to Jim and Blinky.

(He hit her. He practically _threw her across the room._ Claire is so strong but also _so much smaller_ than him. Jim did this to himself, allowed magic to remake his body into the perfect vessel, the perfect bearer of the amulet and the perfect warrior to take down Gunmar. He let his weapon become a part of him and now he’s hurt someone he would have rather died than ever, _ever_ hurt.)

“I’m sorry,” Claire says, voice so, so small, and it’s all wrong, Jim did this. He hurt her and made her small and he wants to shred his own arm for it.

“You didn’t mean to, Jim,” Blinky starts to comfort, but Jim shakes his head sharply, biting down on an inhuman noise of regret, grief, _pain_ that wants to come out. He wants to rush over and hug Claire, curl around her and press himself to the injury _he caused_ and make it better. He wants her close, wants to put his face to her hair and tell her it’ll be okay, he’ll get better. This won’t ever happen again.

But he also wants to run. He wants to run and keep running until he finds a deep enough hole to crawl into and never see anyone ever again. Jim can’t take this. Can’t take living like this- scared and confused by his own body and mind, out of control of everything about himself and unable to just _stop it_ already.

Tears flood his eyes, stricken emotions piercing his center.

“I- I- I need to- to go. I’m sorry.”

Jim skirts around Blinky and Claire, giving them both a wide berth as he practically sprints for the exit of their cave. They call after him, run after him- but Jim was altered to be faster than nearly anything else. Claire doesn’t have her staff anymore. Blinky has never been particularly quick on his feet.

Jim loses them almost faster than they gave chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha................. wack


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interval of Claire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love this girl too much to not do a pov for her during this arc.

The spine of this one is broken.

Claire runs her finger along the ripped back of the hardcover book, mourning its state. She places it into the pile with all the other ones.

The next one she picks up just has a bent cover, so it’s a relatively easy fix. She folds the paperback the opposite direction and then puts it into a stack with others; letting the weight hold it flat and hopefully fixing it.

Claire looks around herself. The damage to her room is almost overwhelming to face.

She rubs at her eyes, taking a slow breath in. Then she winces, feeling her side complain. She touches it briefly, biting her lip and feeling the deep ache that’s settling there. It was an angry red earlier, stinging, but now it’s been long enough the bruise will have begun to form.

Claire can deal with it. She’s been trained to push through the pain and keep fighting anyway. It’s just… the person who created that blooming bruise on her side… she was never prepared to push through pain caused by someone she loves.

Claire shakes her head, banishing her thoughts. She gets up off the floor, moving to her overturned bed. She pulls it off the ground, dragging it over to where it should be. She collects her pillow and covers afterwards, as well as Jim’s. Claire holds the remains of their joint bed, which had been kicked apart by the time she arrived.

Eyes flash in her mind, shining and ferocious. Claire shuts her own eyes and pushes the images away. It won’t help, dwelling on that. It won’t fix her room or locate Jim.

He’ll come back on his own. Probably. Not that Claire can do anything to speed up his return- she and Blinky lost him almost immediately, once Jim started running. He’s so _fast,_ agile as a cat and just as difficult to catch. There was never any chance of Claire being able to keep up with him.

Claire’s arms tighten around the bundle of blankets, then she forces herself to place them in a crumpled ball on the end of her bed. She finds herself sitting down next to them before she realizes it, looking around her room with a heavy heart.

Only a few of her book stacks escaped the event. She’s moved them all to be in the same corner, next to her bags of possessions. A few of the crystals that light her room were dislodged from their niches; one or two cracked and useless. Jim didn’t even think to turn on the lights, the way he was just so- so-

There are marks on the walls- from Jim’s hands and horns and the edges of his armor. Claire can almost swear she feels the lingering feelings of his terror. The little cave she’s made her own is stained by the nightmare induced fear, and Claire very much wishes she could make it go away.

She finds herself selfishly wishing she could go away, too.

But that’s not fair. Jim didn’t mean to do this. He didn’t mean to have a nightmare any more than Claire does when she has them. He said sorry, he’d _looked_ sorry, and-

He wouldn’t let her touch him. Wouldn’t let her near. He ran away instead of letting them help.

No, _Blinky_ got to help. Jim allowed Blinky to stay with him, while Claire was ousted from the room. A shiver runs down Claire’s spine as she remembers her usually kindly friend turning towards her and _shouting_ at her.

“ _Get out!”_ Blinky had ordered. Had _growled,_ flashing teeth and glaring. When she’d protested, he’d yelled again and Claire…

Claire had left.

She hadn’t gone far, just sitting in the hallway. She listened to what happened without her in the room, hearing Jim’s wordless cries of fear. Claire had listened and cried with him, thick tears clouding her vision as she curled into a ball, holding her throbbing side.

Claire holds her side again, now, running through what happened. What she could have done differently. How she could have helped. She can’t think of anything, and it frustrates her in a hot and angry fashion.

Jim had looked right at her and he hadn’t recognized her.

Claire’s eyes fill again without her permission.

It’s stupid to get hung up on that. It’s such a minor detail to what happened. He couldn’t help it, the nightmare had its hooks in him, it wasn’t his fault-

It still hurt deeply, to be unknown to someone Claire loves so much.

She scrubs at her face, tired and worried. She doesn’t know how to fix this. Jim wouldn’t let her near him- during and after the panic attack. Claire herself had sat through something that felt almost like one, shaken and overwhelmed. She wants to be close, but at the same time… she wants to keep her distance.

She’s not good at this. She’s never been in a relationship that’s been this deep, been this turbulent. Emotions, feelings- Claire grew up in a loving home, of course, but her family isn’t overly affectionate. She doesn’t let conflicts like this happen to her- she ends the relationship before it gets past infatuation.

Claire loves Jim. She _loves_ him, more than she ever thought she would. But at the moment she’s not sure that’s enough. She feels exhausted, hollowed out of energy. It took so much to trek all the way across the country, and then to help rebuild a civilization, and with Jim fighting her tooth and nail every step of the way, refusing to be honest, avoiding her questions and touches, actions and affections erratic…

Claire almost wants to say she wants a break. From everything.

Her life feels like too much and too little at the same time, pieces of it eroding others. Claire doesn’t know how she’s going to handle it, or how much longer she can keep herself together under the strain.

Guilty tears slide down her face as she bites her lip, swallowing her hiccupping cries in her damaged room. Blinky is still out looking for Jim. Notenrique is with his friends. God only knows where Nomura went.

Claire is all alone and she still won’t let herself cry out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> list of people who deserve everything in life: claire
> 
> list of people who are getting all they deserve in life: not claire


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are _you_ doing out here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! welcome back to Adjustments: the serial romcomdrom of Jim's unfortunate life.
> 
> let's get on with it.

The tunnels seem like they could go on forever.

Outside of the main cavern, there’s a whole maze, passages looping through and around each other. There’s a lot of them that haven’t been explored yet, what with priority being on establishing the market itself and homes for everybody. For all Jim knows, he could be the first living thing to ever enter this tunnel.

Good. He wants to be alone.

It’s quiet, other than the sound of his own breathing. He hasn’t brought any lights with him, so the only illumination is from the threads of naturally occurring glow stone in the walls. Each jagged line of faint light produces just enough for him to see by, however little Jim wants to look at himself right now.

He tucks himself closer together, head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs. He wants to be as small as possible, hidden from the world in the relative dark. Maybe if he finds a dark enough corner, the shadows will absorb him.

The tunnel’s dimness reminds him of the shallow light in the Darklands. The isolation he’s placed himself in does, too. It creates a tremble in his chest, hollow and familiar in ache. Memories of his weeks in that alternate world, hunting and hunted, makes him grit his teeth and suppress a shudder.

Jim doesn’t get up to move away from those feelings. He stays right where he is. He deserves the dark, the dim, the fear prickling down his spine. Jim hurt someone he loves, lost himself so badly he couldn’t even recognize her- the tunnels he’s taken refuge in could swallow him whole and he wouldn’t argue with that judgement.

He drifts in thought and awareness. His connection to his physical self feels weak, like fraying threads. Untethered, his mind plays tricks on him. Jim hears the distant echo of a monstrous worm’s shrieking, the hissing and growling of whatever small creatures lived in the crags under the top predator’s reign. He feels as though if he glanced up, he’d see his old campsite, see the sickly green light that came from everywhere and nowhere.

Jim doesn’t look up. He just lets the tangled sensations do as they please with him. Every now and then, the recollection of his arm hitting something small and solid will shiver through his bones. Jim digs his nails in, ignoring the broken one, and only barely resists the urge to scratch the memory off of his skin.

No one will find him here. And Jim won’t go looking. He’s alone. Everyone else is better off without him right now and the solitude eats Jim from the inside out.

Tears slip from his eyes, desires for comfort and isolation conflicting. It hurts like a physical thing.

It’s just him, the tunnel, and his slowly receding sense of reality. Until it isn’t. Jim thinks he’s imagining it, the dreamlike waves of memory confusing his senses further. But the sound of distant footfalls grows closer. Jim only raises his head when he realizes the footsteps are in fact real. He’s blinded as he does, sensitive eyes squinting in the light of a lantern.

“I’m beginning to think that even if I went to the ends of the earth, you’d somehow track me down, little Gynt.”

“…Nomura?”

The lantern is lowered, the crystals in their paper cover dimming. Piercing green eyes glow despite the extra light, giving Jim a mildly curious look.

“Don’t tell me,” she says with exasperation, “you found me without even intending to?”

Jim’s thoughts feel sluggish, and he absently wipes at his wet eyes. “I… What are you doing out here, Nomura?”

“I live here now,” Nomura replies. She gives him a onceover and raises an eyebrow. “What are _you_ doing out here?”

“I…” Jim doesn’t know. Hiding, maybe? Just a little. It won’t solve anything, but as long as he’s away from everyone else…

The event which drove him here sends a sharp slice of pain right through him. Jim feels his eyes traitorously tear up again, right in front of someone he respects and wants respect from. It’s humiliating.

Nomure’s eyes are wide, expression along the lines of a deer being caught in the headlights. She glances around, almost frantic, seeming like she’s searching for something or someone. Jim rubs his eyes and tries not to sniffle loudly.

Nomura growls under her breath, ears pressed backwards as she turns to him again. Jim shrinks on himself, and mumbles, “Sorry, I just. I needed space. I’ll… I’ll leave.”

“What are you babbling about?” Nomura hisses tersely. “Get up. We’re going somewhere.”

“Where-?”

“ _Up.”_

Jim stands up.

Nomura takes him back the way she came from. Jim follows, confused by what’s happening, but too uncaring to resist. Nomura… she’s tougher than almost anyone. Cunning, secretive, and cutthroat. The threat she could present as strangely relaxes Jim, just a little.

She didn’t see him lose control, either. Maybe she wouldn’t even care. She’d been there for the grave sand incident- had _encouraged_ him, and then fought with him. If nothing else, Jim knows that he has at least one friend who wouldn’t ever be scared of him.

It’s a grim comfort, but it’s still comfort.

Nomura makes a short sound, part whistle and part call. Jim realizes they’ve arrived to wherever she’s taking him. At first glance, that place seems to be… a large featureless swell in the oddly smooth tunnels. Round and jutting like trees infected with fungus look like.

Nomura is already scaling it as Jim takes it in. She’s got the lantern and her swords on her back, hands free to grip the slope. She glances backwards, clearly sending an admonishment for him not following. Jim huffs and bends, bunching his leg muscles before he leaps most of the way up.

Nomura stops near the point where the boulder swell connects with the tunnel wall. As Jim approaches, she slides her claws into tiny crevices, and light begins to shine through as she pulls the hidden entrance open. “Get in,” she instructs, eyes suspiciously examining the two directions of the tunnel. Jim doesn’t see any reason to not, so he hops in through the hole.

He lands on more stone ground, but this time it feels… almost warm. As he stands, moving out of the way so Nomura can hop down with him; Jim looks around in awed wonder.

Everything is lit pleasantly by glow stones, along the upper walls. Carpets are scattered in places, and a sitting area of pillows and a low table is set up on the plushest one. A rudimentary kitchen is to the far side, a modest table that has two burner crystals set on it, along with a neat stack of dishes on the opposite end. Her three foot cold box sits next to its legs. Dried meat hangs above the kitchen, as well as fresher herbs. Opposite to it, a hollow in the wall, near the ground, has been filled with the fixings of a bed. Beside it is a tiny shelf with scrolls and books, with the scorch box Nomura prizes set on the top shelf.

There’s a more obvious entrance and exit on the other side from the hidden one, but Jim has a feeling Nomura uses the hidden one more than not. He turns as he hears the stone cover slide back into place, watching Nomura descend on the carefully carved footholds.

“This is amazing,” Jim says honestly. A home, concealed from the rest of the world, filled with all the comforts one could need.

“Thank you,” Nomura replies, taking the praise easily. She moves over towards the kitchen, hanging the lantern and her swords on hooks as she does. “Go and sit down. No one will bother us here.”

Jim does so, taking a tentative spot for himself in the sitting area. He touches the durable but soft fabric of the big pillows, each half the size of him and easily cradling his weight. All at once, exhaustion from his stress hits him. Glancing briefly at Nomura and seeing her back turned, he gives into the need to just lie down and curl up.

He doesn’t know how long he was asleep, earlier when he’d been in their- in Claire’s room. The image of how much of a mess he’d made of it flashes through his head, and Jim buries his face in the pillow he’s lying on. He’s slept long enough he probably won’t sleep again any time soon, but closing his eyes is good. Jim can almost pretend he’s back home- his _human_ home, his first home, with his mom in the kitchen and him napping on the couch, preparing for a long night of training.

The illusion is ruined by the way Nomura’s hooves click, as well as the scents of her cave; unmistakably troll and changeling in origin. Jim feels comforted regardless; he knows Nomura, he trusts her, and right now… he feels like this is the only place for him to go.

Jim hasn’t really thought about why he feels at ease with Nomura, despite her prickly nature and their past as enemies. Breathing in her scent on the pillows, Jim thinks to himself that it has something to do with them already having seen each other at their worst, and their worst. Nomura as a merciless warrior, and her as a dishonored, tortured prisoner. Jim losing himself in the ecstasy of grave sand, and him caged next to her, wasting slowly away without his family.

They’ve fought on opposing sides, and then side by side, and though Jim knows no one else trusts her like he does, Nomura is his friend.

Footsteps coming over to him make Jim open one eye, seeing two cups set on the low coffee table. Nomura sits opposite to him, settling into a lounge on her large cushions. She takes one of the handle-less cups for herself, sipping it tranquilly.

Jim stares at her, waiting. Nomura sips at her tea again, remaining silent. Jim slowly rises and takes his own cup, sniffing the spicy scent. Cinnamon and something else, maybe a troll tea that he hasn’t learned the name of yet. He drinks.

Eventually, however, the silence draws out too long for him to stand. “…Aren’t you going to ask why I was in the tunnel?” Jim asks. Nomura barely complained about him finding her.

“Do you want me to?” Nomura asks back, one eyebrow raised. Jim bites his lip, conflicted.

“I… don’t think so.”

“Then I won’t.”

Jim sighs, heavy tension in him dissipating. He doesn’t want to talk about his problems, and he doesn’t want to explain to Nomura what he did to Blinky and Claire. It feels like a raw wound as is; he doesn’t want to widen the gash any further.

Still, the room is too quiet without conversation. So Jim figures small talk, though it’s never been his strong suit, is the way to go.

“When’d you find this place, anyway?” Jim asks, gazing around again. It really is a nice cave; he’s now been living underground long enough to have an opinion on such things.

“Recently,” Nomura replies vaguely, in the way changelings do. Though she pauses, and then begins again. “Just a few nights ago, really. I’ve been renovating since then, around fishing.”

“How come you didn’t tell me? I would’ve helped out.”

“Trolls will willfully ignore my presence, little Gynt. Your coming and going from uninhabited tunnels, however, will be very much remembered.”

Ah, right. Being the Trollhunter doesn’t really allot Jim much anonymity anymore. Everyone knows who he is, wherever he goes. “Still. It would’ve been nice to know I was getting my room back.”

Nomura chuckles at him. “I only just finished tonight, and you would have figured it out eventually. I’m disappointed you didn’t sooner. Your observation skills are still in need of practice, clearly.”

“I observe enough to spot you at the memorial yesterday,” Jim shoots back with a teasing grin, only to cringe internally at Nomura’s widened eyes. “Um. Sorry. I didn’t mean to see you, actually. I was just wandering…”

Nomura sighs and Jim relaxes when she rolls her eyes in a familiar way. “My luck in evading you really is poor.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t you I was avoiding right then.” At Jim’s questioning look, Nomura continues. “If I’d gone the same time as everyone else, I would have been driven off. The last thing any troll wants is an impure praying at their memorial.” Nomura’s expression is bitter as she says _impure,_ like the word itself tastes bad.

“I wouldn’t have let them,” Jim says without hesitation. “Everyone deserves to visit the stone.”

“No one else would see it that way, little Gynt,” Nomura says, shaking her head. “I doubt even the name I visited would have appreciated my presence.”

For a beat, Jim nearly bites his tongue. But he has a suspicion, and knows only of one troll who Nomura also knew. “Do you mean Draal?”

Nomura is very, very still for a few seconds, and then quietly replies, “…Yes. Draal.”

“Can… can I ask why?” Jim shifts forwards, putting his cup on the table, focusing entirely on his friend. “He never told me how he knew you, either. If it’s not okay, though, you don’t have to answer.”

Nomura shrugs. “It’s not as though there’s anyone left to be angry about it,” she says, eyes on her cup of tea. “We met during Gunmar’s first war, when the fighting had begun to escalate. It isn’t a good story.”

“I don’t care,” Jim says, meaning that completely. The doubt he sees in Nomura’s eyes- he knows it’s not because of him, but because of her hardwired suspicion of everyone around her. “Really, Nomura. I don’t care what happened. You’re not the same person as back then.”

Nomura snorts. “Can you really be so sure about that?”

“Yes,” Jim replies firmly.

She gives him a long look, unreadable. Jim doesn’t budge. Finally, Nomura huffs and shakes her head. Jim thinks he sees a tiny smile on her lips as she does.

“Fine. It was my first infiltration assignment,” Nomura begins. “My mission was to obtain the archives and learn the weaknesses of one of the strongest clans. A branch of the Kitlar, from what’s now Iceland. They’d been decimating Gumm-Gumm forces; the upper ranks were getting nervous. So, they sent someone useful, but also disposable.”

“That’s terrible,” Jim says, for lack of better words, the images sinking into his mind. Nomura, but younger, less experienced- sent on a dangerous spy mission because they didn’t value her as a person. He can’t even imagine experiencing that.

“That was just how it was,” Nomura replies, and for a moment Jim can really see her true age. The hundreds of years she’s spent fighting a war. “You did what you had to in order to live. Especially as a changeling. I’ve only lived this long because I was willing to do whatever it took- even lying my way into someone’s home, gaining their trust so they’d bare their underbelly to me.” She takes a drink of her tea, not looking at Jim as she continues speaking. “I didn’t choose Draal for that. He chose me. He made it so easy, too.”

Something Draal once said to Jim comes back to him- about a mistake he’d never make again, regarding a certain changeling. “Were you…?” he asks carefully, imagining the farfetched scenario. His friends couldn’t be more opposite. Yet, it makes an amount of sense.

“Almost. Maybe. I don’t know.” Nomura’s lips twist in a silent snarl. “Changeling are created and trained with a single purpose: serving Gunmar, and by extension Morgana. To wage war almost exclusively. I wasn’t raised to make connections; I was raised to exploit them. Draal was just too much of a fool to see that until it was too late.”

Melancholy has descended on them both, now. Fantastic job, making his friend sad like he is. Jim internally reprimands himself for letting his curiosity get the better of him. But… “What happened, in the end?” Jim asks, because he still wants to hear the story’s end.

“I smuggled information to allies,” Nomura says, ears folding back. “I waited for the signal, and then I set fire to the cavern. While soldiers created a distraction, I escaped with scrolls that could hold the key to toppling other clans. I left him there. I left a knife in his shoulder.” Nomura closes her eyes briefly, sighing softly. “I thought he would die in the fighting. Imagine my surprise when I crossed paths with him on the battlefield not more than a decade later.”

Jim sinks backwards into his pillows, the thick ache of grief in his chest. It hasn’t really gone away, since everything was finally over. It fades, sometimes, but it’s always there. Always present. Jim looks to Nomura’s expression and thinks she would understand that.

“I miss him,” he says sadly.

“I…” She trails off for a moment. “I do as well. More than I thought I ever would.”

When Jim gives her a slightly teary smile, Nomura’s lips quirk up on the edges. Jim’s expression falls, however, as his guilt comes surging back.

His dream- it’s everything he’s been feeling. He didn’t have time in Arcadia to process it back then- immediately after Draal’s death- but he does now. Jim shudders, chest caving inwards, tears sliding down his face. They make his sight too blurry to see how Nomura reacts to his sudden break.

“I killed him,” Jim confesses hoarsely. The nightmare wasn’t real, but it _felt_ real. Jim can recall the feeling of metal sliding through stone _perfectly._ “He- I wasn’t strong enough to save him in time. I let him be taken by Gunmar and then I- I got him killed the second he was free again. I just- I didn’t mean to-”

Nomura stands up. Jim huddles in on himself, embarrassed and ashamed. There. He’s said it. The truth of what happened and why they’re both sitting here, feeling sad over someone’s death. Jim wasn’t strong enough, didn’t try hard enough, didn’t find a way to free Draal before it all came to a head-

Nomura kneels beside him, her weight shifting the pillows. Jim keeps his head down, struggling to bring his breathing under control and suppress his crying. He’s not sure what he expects. Nomura telling him to suck it up, maybe. She’s had a life far worse than his, dealt with it and moved on. Jim can’t do this, can’t breakdown when he’s supposed to be the unfaltering protector of a whole community. A Trollhunter can’t let themselves be paralyzed by regret like this.

An arm winds around his shoulders, a sharp chin coming to rest on the left one.

“The lie is kinder than the truth, sometimes,” Nomura says in a gentle voice, next to his ear. “The world killed Draal, Jim. You can’t blame yourself for inevitability. Draal was the last of his clan, and he’s always been a stubborn, bullheaded idiot. If it wasn’t then, it would have been during another battle. No one could have stopped him from getting himself killed eventually.”

 _“I could’ve,”_ Jim insists, wounded anger bubbling inside him. “It’s my _job_ to protect people, I should’ve saved him! I- I should’ve made better choices, shouldn’t have put off rescuing him just- just because it was risky, and-”

“You cannot save them all, Jim,” Nomura says plainly. “It is the hardest lesson to learn, but you can’t save everyone. It’s just not possible. I’m sorry.”

How genuinely Nomura apologizes, the sincerity of her sympathy- it pushes Jim over the edge, and he sobs.

Long claws starting carding through his hair, giving comforting scratches. It’s so quiet it’s almost inaudible, but a shaky purr is coming from Nomura. It’s like she’s trying to remember how to make the sound, and her efforts to finger-comb his hair are awkward at times. She’s unfamiliar with doing this, clear as day.

Jim feels an abrupt swell of gratitude that she’s trying anyway. He can’t help but turn and throw his arms around her, breathing raggedly as he feels her lean body go stiff against his. For a moment, he regrets his actions and starts to pull away, an apology on his tongue, but Nomura pulls him back. She’s all sharp edges and deadly points, but none of them aim to harm him.

Jim tilts his head- aiming to knock horns- but can’t, because Nomura has none. Instead he feels her sharp cheekbone brush against his tear streaked cheeks, firm and purposeful. She does the same to the other cheek, a rising and falling noise escaping her fang filled mouth. Then, she tucks him close, going back to grooming his hair.

Jim doesn’t question, doesn’t fight it. Just lets it happen. In a weird, embarrassing way, it makes Jim think of his mom, though Nomura and Barbara Lake are like night and day to each other. Maybe he’s missed his mom’s hugs more than he thought, and this is just him projecting onto Nomura.

Jim finds he doesn’t really care right now. This feels good. He feels as safe as he did with Blinky. Jim just closes his eyes and hugs Nomura, mumbling, “It’s still my fault. I asked him to fight, I… I led him…”

“Draal never followed anyone he didn’t want to, little Gynt, and he once boasted he could fight an army of Gumm-Gumms by himself. His choices were his own, and he chose to swear himself to you.”

 _I didn’t want that,_ Jim wants to say, but can’t, because it’s a lie. He’d resented having Draal around at first, thought it was just another hassle in his life. But then he’d spent time with the troll, learned new techniques to fight better, had someone up at weird hours to talk with and distract himself from restless dreams. He’d gotten to know Draal and then one day, without noticing the build up to it, Jim couldn’t imagine his basement without Draal in it.

Jim wishes he could have told his friend about that. Wishes he could have explained how much Draal meant to him, by the end of things.

“He already knew,” Nomura tells him softly, and she can’t know that for sure, it’s a white lie, but-

It heals some of the pain, a handful of the scars, stemming from the hole Draal’s death has left in Jim.

 

-/-

 

“When was the last time you ate?”

That’s the first thing Nomura asks him, sometime after Jim has calmed again. He stares at her blankly for a minute, thrown by the question.

“Uh…” He furrows his brow as he tries to remember. “I… think yesterday? Mid-evening?”

Nomura flicks a sharp nail near the base of his horn, making Jim hiss and flinch at the sensation. “No _wonder_ you’re such a pathetic mess,” she scolds, once more the no-nonsense, sharp tongued person he knows her as. “You spend all your time making meals for everyone else, and then you forget to feed _yourself.”_

“I- I haven’t felt hungry-” His stomach betrays him by growling loudly. The mention of food alone is enough to make it twist hungrily. “Well, maybe I was a little… but other stuff happened, and I just…”

Jim trails off as Nomura stands, her hand coming down on his head in a rough pat. He puts his palm to his thoroughly mussed hair, caught off guard- as always- by the rare bits of affection Nomura will show towards him. The changeling goes right to her cold box, opening it and beginning to set ingredients on the table.

“The market’s idiot Trollhunter can’t go around passing out from low blood sugar,” Nomura says, ear flicking in annoyance. She grabs a kitchen knife off the wall- larger than a human one, crafted for troll use- and bisects a fillet of fish. She activates the heating crystals of a burner and then glances over her shoulder at him. “Well? Are you going to help, or are you going to just sit there? If you’re here, you’re making yourself useful.”

“Uh- yeah, ‘course,” Jim replies, hopping up quickly. He can do useful. He likes being useful to people, especially his friends. He also wants to avoid ending whatever odd streak of kindness Nomura is having right now. Jim understands that she’s very much an introverted, anti-social person; having him crying all over her nice pillow-couch must have been unpleasant to deal with.

Still, he doesn’t think he sees any true frustration with him in her posture. He’s been getting better at reading body language in trolls- changelings included. Her mouth is pinched and her eyes are firmly fixed on her slicing, but the way she’s standing, and how she lets him come up close to her, indicates that he’s still welcome.

“Here, take care of the vegetables.”

“What’re we making?”

“I liked what you made for us, the other night. So, I bought a bundle of shade grass.”

“Shade grass?”

Nomura nods and places the bundle of greenery on his side of the table. “It has a proper name, but it’s commonly known as that because it only grows in lowlight environments. Trolls have been farming it for generations- I think before what humans call the Cenozoic era, even.”

Jim doesn’t realize right away what era that is. It takes him a minute, and after that minute of having flashbacks to his brief prehistoric animals phase in early middle school, he just about cuts off his own finger with the knife. “ _That old?”_ he exclaims, eyes wide.

Nomura rolls her eyes at him. “Trolls are among the most ancient civilizations to ever evolve on earth; of course they’d discovered agriculture by then. And stop looking at me like that. I wasn’t _there,_ obviously. I’ve only just cracked my first thousand.”

“Please don’t say that like I’m supposed to find it reasonable.”

“Oh, get over yourself, youngling. Your fleshy human underbelly is showing.”

Maybe it’s the comment on his humanity that makes Jim snort and laugh- he doesn’t really associate himself with ‘human’, these days. His lack of humanity stings, like it always does, but it’s tempered by the task he’s been given and the non-judgemental way Nomura is treating him. It doesn’t feel like pity or coddling, and it doesn’t feel like mockery or antagonism.

It feels comfortable. Normal. If someone had asked him not too long ago if he thought a situation like this would ever happen with such a dangerous enemy, he would have checked them for head injuries. Now, they cook the meal with very little instruction from the other; passing ingredients back and forth, reaching across without interrupting, trading knives per step…

Nomura puts a pot of water on the stove plates, next to the pan sizzling with vegetables. Jim is surprised when she takes out two packages of instant noodles from her non-perishables box; slicing the plastic with a claw and dumping the dried noodles in.

“If there’s one thing humans managed to contribute to the world,” Nomura says as she stirs the noodles with a pair of chopsticks, “it’s easy-make carbohydrates.”

Jim is excited briefly- he hasn’t had junk food in _ages_ \- before remembering why he’s stopped eating majority human food in the first place. “I… don’t think I can eat those,” he says, sullen feelings pressing against his rib cage. “Toby made some for me and Claire, before we had our last war meeting on the… the day of the eclipse. They tasted horrible.”

The memory of Toby proudly bringing them three steaming bowls of noodles, along with leftovers of the meal Jim last cooked for his mom and him… it’s not a wholly pleasant one, no matter the burst of gratitude Jim had felt at the time. He’d thought he could get by with just the noodles, hide that he wasn’t eating the cooked meat, but the second he bit into them he gagged. Jim had forced himself to eat another three bites before Toby gave him the saddest smile possible and said _it’s okay, dude. You don’t have to force yourself to like it._

But it’d been something Toby made, made for _Jim_ and _Claire_ , and he wasn’t even sure if they were all going to see each other again on the other side of the battle. Setting down the bowl of sour noodles had made his stomach churn with frustration, and deep apology.

“That’s because you were making them wrong,” Nomura informs him, pulling Jim out of his depressing memory. She shows him a small glass shaker, its contents a deep red. “You need this to cancel out the taste of chemicals in most human foods.”

“The… taste?”

“Chemically modified foods are only a few hundred years old,” Nomura explains, almost patient, shaking the red seasoning onto the noodles. “Trolls have only ever eaten their own crops and harvest; they’re not accustomed to the taste of what humans do to most of their food to make it safe. Changelings are the same way, if we’re not in human form. We, however, created a way to nullify the taste.”

Jim stares at the red powder dissolving into the water, being absorbed by the noodles as Nomura swirls them in a circle. He thinks of Toby and Claire- offering him human treats to cheer him up, their winces and grimacing smiles as they remember he can’t eat those things anymore- and something like a flicker of hope appears in his chest.

“This isn’t like grave sand, right?” he double checks, though Jim has a hunch he’d eat it anyway, just so he can share a meal with his human friends and family again. He leans over the pot, sniffing deeply and catching the delicious waft of scent. Savory, slightly spicy. His mouth waters.

“No changelings were harmed in the making of this powder,” Nomura says dryly. Jim laughs at the dark humor, taking the shaker and sniffing its contents directly. “It’s a guilt free ingredient, little Gynt. I doubt rocks can protest being ground up.”

“Oh, yay, ‘cause I love eating rocks for dinner. Thanks.”

“It’s sand, not rocks.”

“Sand is just incredibly tiny rocks. Toby would totally back me up on this.”

Nomura chuffs and steps purposefully on his foot. Jim hisses playfully and retreats to the other end of the kitchen, saving himself from further toe-stepping.

Their food is done a short time later. Nomura takes out two large ceramic bowls, wide and almost flat, and lets Jim dish everything out. The noodles have taken on a reddish color, thanks to their sandy seasoning. Adding in the long blades of shade grass, as well as the assorted pan fried vegetables and raw fish strips, and the steaming bowls present an all too enticing display to resist. Though Jim had known he was hungry before, having everything done now has fully brought back his anxiety-suppressed appetite.

They sit back down on the pillows, digging in with little fanfare. Jim reminds himself every few bites not to eat the wooden chopsticks he’s using- a pair of utensils Nomura brought from Arcadia, and managed to salvage from her previous cave. He’d be guilty as hell, and Nomura is definitely watching him, so he ignores how sweet and brittle the chopsticks taste, focusing on the hot vegetables, fish, and noodles settling into his stomach.

It’s as he’s chasing around the last few morsels that Nomura breaks their comfortable silence.

“So now what?” she asks, setting down her bowl on the coffee table. “Are you planning on staying longer? There’s only one bed and I’m not giving it up; you’d have to sleep over here. Or should I be packing a bag and getting ready to make a run for the gyre tunnels two miles from here?”

“What? No, god, where’d you get that idea?” Jim says incredulously.

Nomura shrugs. “You were in a sorry state when I found you, and I have no ties to this place. If you did something that’s gotten you chased out, I wouldn’t argue skipping town while we can. I wouldn’t be allowed to stay here without your presence, anyway.”

Jim blinks, processing. Then he shakes his head. “I wasn’t chased out, what could I even do to cause that? I’m the _Trollhunter.”_

“And Trollhunters have been cast out before; for treason, treachery, or jealousy. Many trolls would covet the mantle. Many others despise it and seek to unleash chaos.” Nomura tilts her chin down slightly, giving him a pointed look. “Do not ever get comfortable with your status, little Gynt. Someone will always be waiting to steal it from you.”

“Uhh… right, of course.” Jim takes that bit of advice and places it firmly in his ever-growing mental pile of _Nomura’s Dubious Life Tips._

Nomura nods, seeming satisfied with his acceptance of her words. And for a beat he almost thinks he’s sidetracked the conversation enough, but Nomura says next, “You still haven’t answered me. What do you plan on doing, now?”

Jim frowns, setting his bowl and chopsticks on the table; no longer interested in getting the last few scraps into his mouth. “I don’t know,” he says honestly, all his earlier worries returning. At least they’re more controlled this time; no sliding back into panic thus far. “I… didn’t leave Claire and Blinky on good terms. I- I don’t know if I should go back just yet. They might-” He has to take a steadying breath. “…They might not want to see me.”

Nomura says nothing as he takes a few more breaths, bringing back down the spike of anxiety in himself. As he settles, she asks “Why not?”

Jim twists his fingers together, wringing them and pressing on his broken claw. It hurts. “I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t ask me that…”

“I want to be able to plan ahead. If you’re hiding here, I’d like to know so I can prepare.”

“I- I’m not _hiding,”_ Jim protests.

Nomura raises an eyebrow. “You wandered into the least populated area of the market for fun, then?”

Jim scowls at her. She remains unfazed.

“I was only hiding a little,” Jim admits, hunching his shoulders. Nomura doesn’t say anything; watching and waiting. Jim tries to string together his thoughts and words, working against the tide of terrible memories that wash over him all too easily. His nightmare, his fuzzy, dreamlike recollection of his panicked state, the impact of his-

Jim digs his claws into the back of his hand, piercing the thick skin. Red wells up around the imbedded tips. Jim watches the tiny driblets and kind of feels like crying. There’s some of him that’s still human, even with how very inhuman his exterior has become.

(He never would have hurt Claire or Blinky like he did, not if he were still inches shorter, pale pink and soft around the edges despite his training. Jim became a weapon. He’s really starting to understand what that means, now.

He hates it.)

“Jim.”

The soft-spoken way Nomura says his name, oddly enough, reels his thoughts back into his body. He blinks, realizing his hand hurts and the changeling across from him is staring. He looks down and finally remembers to take his claws out of his own skin.

For lack of something to wipe the trickles of blood on, he just licks it, not even really thinking about the gesture. It’s on the second swipe of his raspy tongue that he notices, but a hurried glance at Nomura shows him she’s watching with a mild expression.

“Sorry,” Jim says, apologizing for the zoning out, the blood, the licking- god, he just can’t get his shit together for even five minutes.

Nomura hums. The concerned glint in her eyes is gone, once again. Now, he can tell she’s still waiting on his answer. Not pushing, thankfully, but biding her time. It almost makes Jim want to lie and say everything is fine, he was just joking; Nomura won’t question further, because they’ve both come to an unspoken agreement of not nosing too far into each other’s business. And yet, this evening has been the first time Nomura really opened up to him, and he to her, so maybe… that’s changing, gradually.

Jim controls his voice as he speaks slowly.

“I… had a nightmare. A bad one. I woke up wrong, and I didn’t know where I was, and I…” The deep, jagged wound in his chest aches. “I hurt Claire,” he says in a small voice, so ashamed he feels like it’s killing him. “Blinky, too. I was- I was out of control.” Worse than when he’d been high on grave sand- at least then he could somewhat rationalize and plan.

This time it’d been like he lost all sense of his conscious self, reduced to a blind animal panic and stuck in fight or flight mode. That scared him. _Scares_ him. And he doesn’t even want to think about how that all must have looked from the outside; him on all fours, mind blank with fear, snarling at people he loves. God knows he wouldn’t hold it against Claire if she started rethinking her choice to come to New Jersey with him.

Nomura seems like she ponders his words, which creates another pause in their conversation. Finally, she replies with, “And what do you want to do about it?”

“I-” Jim’s thoughts stutter. “I, well, I want to apologize, I guess?”

“That sounds simple enough.”

“It’s not simple,” Jim says tersely. “I could’ve seriously injured them, I- I threw Claire across the room, I nearly stabbed Blinky-”

“Did you mean to?”

“Wh- _no,_ god. I would never.”

“Then it was an accident.”

Jim almost denies that, but stops short. An accident. He hadn’t meant to, so it was an accident. His shoulders slump, internal turmoil becoming subdued. The fight has gone out of him.

“I can’t just call it an accident,” he says, raising a hand and rubbing his face tiredly. “Me losing control could get them k- hurt. If I can’t trust myself not to do that, I shouldn’t be around them at all.”

Jim can feel Nomura’s eyes on him, hears her slow shift of posture on the pillows. “So, you want to leave?”

“ _No,”_ is his immediate reply, no forethought to it. Jim almost shudders at the idea; walking away from the last two people of his team, his _family_ , that he has left.

Though, a glance towards Nomura reminds him that’s not entirely correct.

Nomura huffs. “Then what? You’ll hide on the outskirts of your own territory forever? Phantom of the Opera hardly suits you, little Gynt.”

When she puts it like that… Jim sighs and folds his ears back, knowing how ridiculous that plan really is. He can’t leave the market or his family, he couldn’t ever, and he can’t hide out in these tunnels for the rest of his life. Nomura would probably lose her temper and kick him out eventually, anyway.

That’s a little harsh, though. Nomura has been… really good to him, tonight. Jim wouldn’t have thought he warranted this level of care in her eyes, but he supposes stranger things have happened. Meeting her eyes, he realizes he’s able to see the calm patience there.

Jim sighs. He’s wallowed long enough. He can’t stay here.

“I need to go back and apologize to them.” No matter how much he cringes from facing Claire and Blinky.

“Alright,” Nomura agrees, nodding once. She stands up and goes to take her swords off their hook. As she takes the lantern in hand, Jim joins her at the secret entrance. His stomach churns with anxiety, but he pushes through it and follows his friend up and out.

 

-/-

 

On the way back out of the tunnel system, Jim has a chance to really look around at it, since he’s no longer running scared or purposefully distancing himself from reality.

The walls are strangely smooth. Like a troll came through and buffered out all the divots and crevices; through every single one of the sizable, winding tunnels. Jim recalls that though he rarely strays far from the market’s inner ring, he’s seen a handful of tunnels like this surrounding the cavern. Not nearly as numerous as this, but a few.

“Why’re these tunnels like this?” Jim asks, touching the closest wall. He runs a finger along the vein of faintly glowing stone threaded across it. It’s very pretty.

“Wyrms.”

“Worms?”

“Yes, wyrms.” Nomura gestures to the tunnel length in front of them. “You saw them in the Darklands. The ones here on earth were the ancestor of those; the wyrms brought over were bred to be akin to war dogs, if you will.”

Jim wrinkles his nose. “Jeez, why? Those things are horrifying.”

“Exactly their purpose,” Nomura says, an amused tone to her voice. “Like how humans took a fellow predator and made it their companion, a Gumm-Gumm formed a partnership with one of our greatest enemies. Though, with how uncontrollable the wyrms still were, despite selective breeding, they were deemed too hazardous for proper war tactics and left to run wild in the Darklands.”

“What the fuck.”

“Quite.”

Jim struggles to wrap his brain around the concept. “Why would you even try to do that with worms? They’re _worms._ ”

Nomura glances sideways at him. “…I think we’re speaking about two different creatures.”

Jim wants to demand more answers about these killer worms- _how,_ just _how?_ \- but the distant tenor of someone’s voices makes them both still. Jim’s ears flick up like Nomura’s, trying to catch the sound better.

“ _-shouldn’t have listened to that old witch, I’ve been here for hours! What if he’s hurt? What if he’s_ left? _Oh, Aarghaumont, you’d know how to find him. You could help him! Not like me, talking to myself in circles, utterly useless-!”_

“Blinky!” Jim exclaims, and takes off running. Nomura’s sharp hooved steps follow him, slightly slower.

“Jim?” asks Blinky’s shocked voice, just as Jim launches himself out of the tunnel and into an intersection of four others. Joy and relief of seeing his mentor hits Jim like a gut punch, and he doesn’t even pause before half-tackling Blinky with a hug.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Jim says immediately, clinging to Blinky. “I didn’t mean to hurt either of you, and- and I didn’t mean to run away like that, or make you worried, or-”

“Jim, _Jim,_ it’s alright, calm down.” Blinky’s four strong arms cradle Jim close, their strength steadying him. Jim’s heart clenches at the hoarse concern in Blinky’s voice as he speaks. “I am just relieved to have you within reach again, Jim. Nothing else matters.”

Jim shakes his head jerkily, pulling back enough to look up. “No- it was an accident but it’s still my fault, I’m not gonna let you excuse it. And I _ran away_ from you guys, instead of apologizing right- Blinky I’m _so sorry._ I’ll never let that happen again, I swear it on my honor.”

The last part is a bit dramatic, but Jim _has_ spent the last few months around Blinky. And he means it, wholly and truly.

Jim doesn’t get why Blinky’s smile takes on a sad tilt to it.

“Of course,” Blinky says softly, two hands cupping Jim’s cheeks, “I would expect nothing less from you, son.”

Jim thought he was done with waterworks, but his eyes manage to tear up a little anyway. But then Blinky frowns, sniffing, and then leans in to sniff Jim’s face and hair more directly.

What.

Blinky huffs, blustering Jim’s somewhat shaggy bangs. He rubs Jim’s cheeks a tad roughly with his palms. Jim starts to say something along the lines of _hey, what the fuck,_ but Blinky knocks his horns against Jim’s and his thoughts turn to _oh, never mind, this is fine._

“Blinkous.”

Blinky stands up straight again and Jim blinks rapidly to clear his head.

“…Nomura,” Blinky greets. His hold on Jim tightens minutely, and Jim glances between the two adults with confusion. They’re both sort of not-glaring at each other, which is weird because Jim thought they were all starting to get along nicely.

“Uh, hey! Blinky,” Jim says a little too loudly, distracting both of them, “how’d you know where to find me?” He also wiggles out of Blinky’s hug before his mentor can stop him.

“Oh,” Blinky says, taking his six eyes off Nomura finally. He smiles at Jim. “I have an old friend who tipped me off. I’ll be sure to introduce you two to each other, once we have… sorted this out.”

Jim’s happiness is dulled, remembering he has someone else he still needs to apologize to. Blinky, for whatever reason, has turned out to be relatively simple. Facing Claire, however, still feels like an insurmountable task.

Jim swallows thickly. “Uh, yep, ‘course. We better be heading out then, right?”

He thanks his lucky stars that both Blinky and Nomura listen to him. Jim doesn’t get what their sudden beef with each other is about- it’s totally another troll thing he knows nothing about, dammnit- but they drop it for the most part as they walk out of the smooth tunnels.

They manage some only semi-awkward small talk on the way back. Jim isn’t sure what’s compelling Nomura to stay with them, even after they leave her new neighborhood of the cavern, but he appreciates it. It makes it easier to hide how little he’s contributing to the conversation; both of them letting Blinky carry most of it, jumping from topics as Jim prompts.

“-shouldn’t be too much longer, really,” Blinky says, waving two hands at the opposite of the cavern. “Once the structural supports are installed, after they break bedrock, we’ll finally begin reconnecting ourselves with the gyre network! Arcadia will be within reach in just another few months, master Jim.”

A pang of emotion goes through Jim. He smiles, heart aching. “Yeah, I hope,” he says, thinking of the people he had to leave behind- _Toby, his mom, Arrrgh-_ and how much he misses them.

Blinky sighs happily. “It will be wonderful to have Aarghaumont and Tobias around once again. Your mother, as well.”

Nomura hums. “Barbara wasn’t half bad company.”

Jim gives them both a pleased smile. And he laughs when Blinky grumpily adds that he’ll likely have to converse with his traitor sibling, which Jim knows will end up either a very tense, very awkward evening with minimal speaking, or it’ll escalate into a full-blown argument about whatever they’re debating _this time._

Toby had sat with him through one of the biggest ones the Galadrigal siblings had. He’d thought they were entertaining, and the warm weight of him leaning on Jim’s side kept him from trying to intervene. The argument had been about human science-fiction. Specifically, the parallels between it and troll science-fiction, and whether or not Dictatious was copying from Star Wars.

Claire had shown up about halfway through the lengthy fight, reporting in for more war strategizing, and she’d joined them on the stairs to watch. Eventually Jim’s mom came home and threatened both brothers with the broom if they didn’t smarten up and act their age. Jim, Toby, and Claire all snickered from the stairs, clustered together and savoring the remaining hours before the big showdown.

Jim still remembers the feeling of sitting with them, their hands occasionally touching his new body’s changes, commenting idly on how his horns felt, or the thick texture to his hair, the toughness of his skin…

Things had been alright, for that brief period of time. Like the world slowed down and they were allowed to exist away from the brewing battle. Jim would give anything to have more moments like that, after the gyre is built and he can finally, _finally_ have them all together again.

Though, first… he has to resolve something just as important, if not more so, presently speaking.

Jim sort of forgets to breathe when he spots Claire, waiting outside their cave’s entrance. She’s talking with Notenrique, leaning on the wall and absently twirling a length of rebar in one hand. A hysterical thought in Jim’s mind wonders if the rebar is meant for him. (An eye for an eye, right?)

That thought dies immediately as Claire glances their way and meets Jim’s eyes, the rebar dropping loudly as her hand goes slack. Her expression turns to painful relief so fast it’s unmistakable- she’s as glad to see him and he is her.

It hurts so much- in both a bad and good way- Jim still screwed up and he’ll never let that go, not until he’s made things _right_ , made it up to her, but the hesitation he was expecting from himself, from _her_ , doesn’t occur to either of them. There are only mere meters between them, and they cross that in seconds.

Claire’s arms lock around his waist and suddenly everything in the world is right again. Jim holds her gently, while Claire squeezes him so tightly he’d bruise if he were human. It’s like getting back a piece of his very self.

 _“I’m so sorry,”_ Jim breathes, faint with emotion. He bows his head and puts his face in her hair. “Claire, I’m so, _so_ unbelievably sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Claire says back, nails digging into his shirt. She’s shaking a little. “You’re back. It’s okay, now.”

Jim shuts his eyes and sighs, heavy and sad. This is his fault. “No, it’s not okay. None of that was okay.”

“…Maybe not,” Claire says, voice gaining strength, “but we’re going to _make it_ okay.”

Jim never wants to let go of her. He wants to take those words and place them inside his heart, so he never loses the warm weight of that promise. What did he ever do to deserve someone like Claire?

A distant explosion abruptly shatters their reunion, sending Jim right into a defensive stance over Claire. Dust floats up from across the enormous cavern, coming from the source of the explosion.

“Master Jim, Miss Claire- it’s only the gyre tunnel construction!” Blinky exclaims, hurrying over to them. “I suppose you might have forgotten in all the fuss of this, but I _did_ tell you.”

Gyre construction? Oh, right. Blinky had said something about breaking bedrock. Jim relaxes gingerly, easing off his hunch around Claire. His girlfriend lowers her curving silver dagger, and _holy hell,_ when did Claire get a _dagger?_

Nomura approaches with bored curiosity, looking at Claire’s weapon. “Nice blade,” she compliments.

The thing is almost the size of Claire’s forearm. She flips it in her hand, smiling and blushing a little. “Thanks. Notenrique gave it to me, tonight.”

“Cost me a pretty penny, too,” grumbles the small changeling, joining their group. Claire steps away from Jim to bend and pick up her brother; Notenrique oddly doesn’t resist, which Jim figures out is protectiveness for Claire, judging from the way Notenrique glares over her shoulder at him.

Jim winces and takes a half-step back, conceding just this once. He hurt Claire, accident or not. He doesn’t have right to glue himself to Claire’s side like he wants to; not until they’ve talked and he’s done something, _anything_ to make up for this. (What will the others think when they find out? Oh _god,_ Jim hadn’t even thought about that yet, telling his mom and Arrrgh, telling _Toby,_ _oh_ _god oh god-_ )

Jim feels his stress clawing at him again, and he decides he needs to do something to distract himself as well as ease the tension in their group. He starts to say they should head inside, that he’ll put the water on and make some tea while he whips up a snack for everyone- but a secondary explosion rocks the cavern, this time far deeper reaching, making the ground under them shudder.

It sounds different. It’s not coming from the gyre tunnel construction.

A huge shape bursts out from where they’d come from, tearing through the walls of where Nomura’s tunnels _had_ been. The thing rises up, opening its maw and screaming high and angry.

It’s a worm. Like the ones from the Darklands, but sandy brown in coloring and _possibly even bigger._

“My fucking _cave!”_ Nomura shrieks at it.

Jim feels the amulet in his pocket, its weight returning to him as the danger floods his system with adrenaline. He doesn’t know when it came back to him, but its power pulses at him now, _beckoning._

Screams are starting up from the market, a wave of terror sweeping over everyone as the worm swivels its gaze towards the populace. Jim slaps the amulet to his chest and lets the light engulf him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i'm sorry about ending on another cliffhanger, really i am.
> 
> also, shoutout to zonbidraws on tumblr. i took reference from their post about draal's troll type- [it's a very good one, so check it out.](https://trollhuntingdirectory.tumblr.com/post/161228860044/zonbidraws-kitlar-trolls-the-kitlar-are-a-race)

**Author's Note:**

> leave me a comment if you can, and visit my [trollhunters blog](https://chillahead-bridge.tumblr.com/) if you wanna chat about my fics and headcanons.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unhappy Birthday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379857) by [kdandsheela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdandsheela/pseuds/kdandsheela)




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